The Governess
by asukane
Summary: Escaping a life of boredom and duty, Mary leaves her wealth behind to gain a new life and start again. When she moves to an estate on the Cornish coast, working as a governess for a young boy, she finds herself employed by a certain Mr Crawley whose strange way of life intrigues and confounds her. Their innocent world is turned upside down when both their pasts return to haunt them
1. Chapter 1

**_The Governess – Part I_**

* * *

 **Downton Village, October 1919**

* * *

There was such sadness in leaving a place where so much love had been present. There were so many fond memories and beloved people that she'd treasure the recollection of forever. Maybe one day, she thought as she donned her hat and picked up her bag, surveying her room bathed in moonlight for one last time, she'd come back and see the place again. But she had to leave. So, when she walked slowly and nostalgically down the grand staircase and into the library, glancing at the warmth of the roaring fire still in its grate, it was with a pang of sorrow that she placed the letter in clear view on the mantel.

 _To my family._

She'd found out about their agreement with Cousin James months ago- not long after her eighteenth birthday she'd overheard them discussing in the drawing room. It wasn't that she didn't like Patrick. On the contrary, he was a perfectly agreeable man and she was sure he'd make a fine husband for whomever he did marry, but she didn't want that to be her; she did not love him, nor he her, and although this was of no importance to her parents it was imperative to her. Women like her did not have a life. They paid calls and worked for charities and went to dinners and chose dresses, but really, they were stuck in a waiting room until they married. She did not want that life, so she'd cut and run while she still had the chance.

She walked all the way down the drive and into the village, tears gathering behind her eyes at the loss of her home and family that she refused to allow to fall. It was only when she'd boarded the train, taken a seat next to the window with her bag—now her only worldly possessions—clutched tightly in her lap, that she allowed herself to cry.

The whistles were blown, the train began to move, and Mary swore to never forget the precise look of the name of the village grown in beautifully coloured flowers at the side of the station.

Downton.

* * *

 **London, March 1921**

* * *

Mary had spotted a curious advertisement for a position as a governess to a three-year-old boy in a column at the back of the newspaper that had been sent up to her hotel room. All through the day she'd found her mind dwelling on it as she kneaded dough absently and after some musing she gathered together a few appraises of her education, scraped a couple of references and wrote a letter to apply. It seemed an opportunity to have a life at least close to the one she had; she'd be given purchase to live in a large house in the heart of the English country and although she would no longer be known as a Lady and she would be working to earn a living, she would at least be free—to a higher degree than she was used to anyway.

The job seemed to be an extremely agreeable relief to those she had been entertaining in the meantime to pay her way- till girl in a sweet shop and general help in a bakery- and the lifestyle would be one to which she was wholly more accustomed to at any rate. No, it would not nearly match up, but it would be better than having her hands perpetually covered in flour and having to make chit chat with the ghastly old aunts that spoiled their already largely obese nephews and nieces with mountains of sweets on any occasion.

Which is how, on a beautiful spring day in early March, she came to be sat in a, rather nice, drawing room in a large house in Manchester, seated opposite a woman who couldn't have been much older than her own mother. She wore an elegant purple gown and smiled kindly at Mary who tried to remember her newly esteemed place. She would have to learn how to control her innately superior behaviour if she were to secure a bettering job.

A maid came in at the bell, bringing with her a tray of tea pouring it in silence with a respectful nod as Mary sipped it delicately when the woman began to speak.

"The position in question is for the care and teaching of a young boy of three years of age," she said clearly. "He is presently in the charge of my son and his current governess in Cornwall. My son lives and works in the city you see- but the little boy seems to have a knack for driving governesses to an untimely resignation so his present one has handed in her notice and will leave at the end of two months. If it isn't too much trouble, we would like you to start then."

Mary nodded, "of course."

"Am I right in assuming that this would be your first position?" She asked, reading Mary's letter of response to the advertisement that lay on the table in front of her.

"Yes. But I have worked in a village schoolroom," (she had done it as part of her charity work, something all Ladies did at some point before their first season, but she didn't need to mention that), "And I would venture to say I have a more than average grounding in all the major subjects."

"I don't doubt it," the woman smiled pleasantly, "you seem eminently qualified for the post. My son recommended you for interview after reading your letter and I quite say I couldn't agree more."

She hadn't met, or even corresponded with, her son, which was odd given that he'd be her employer soon enough, but from where she was standing he seemed like a pretty poor gentleman and an even worse father. He had left his three-year-old son in a house full of staff to be looked after by strangers, while he galivanted off to the city, and didn't even have the decency to conduct the interviews for a new governess himself, instead leaving the job to his mother.

"There are a few things you should know," she pressed on, "Teddy, the little boy, has a weak chest. He's bright and ambitious and he'll want to do things he can't sometimes, and it is very important that he is not indulged. He's not strong enough to swim, and if he runs for long lengths of time he can become very short of breath- but it's nothing to worry about, just something to be mindful of." The woman smiled at Mary, who returned it before placing her tea down, pondering a question.

"I'm sorry for the impertinence, but may I ask where the boy's mother is?" Mary queried.

"His mother died a last year. The boy went into my son's care when he left university." She replied.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Mrs…?"

"Crawley," The woman said, "Call me Isobel, please."

Mary, taken aback by the common surname, was about to explain her affront in haste before realising she had applied under a different name. She was Mary Levinson now, no longer Mary Crawley.

Isobel smiled, seemingly not to notice Mary's surprise.

"I shall pay for your train tickets in due course and post them to your home address presently. All going according to plan, you'll arrive on the Friday evening in precisely two months' time. The house keeper, Mrs Lynn, will introduce you to the house staff and you will start teaching Teddy on the Monday. Are those terms acceptable?"

"Very much," Mary agreed. "Thank you for offering me the role."

* * *

 **The Hut on the Cliffs, Porthcurno Cove, Cornwall, May 1921**

* * *

Drinks sloshed freely as the room was filled with loud and jolly conversation that drowned out the deluge that beat itself down onto the windows of the darkened studio. The storm had come with the fall of night and it was quite dark and exceedingly wet beyond the walls of the room in which the party took place. There was loud music playing behind the raucous laughs and booming chatter of the happy drunks and it was an excitable atmosphere that filled the studio on the cliff face.

Matthew watched from the bar as James pranced around the room with his latest conquest on his arm, dancing merrily until the fast-paced song ended and everyone erupted into more cheers as another one began.

"Get Matthew a drink, will you?" James shouted over the noise so the bartender would hear and thanked him a little too profusely as he took the two tankards of beer and thrust one into his friend's hands. Half the liquid spilled over Matthew's waistcoat and he laughed at James' drunk antics as he took a hearty swig of what remained of his drink. Matthew enjoyed returning to the coast very much, it was the community in this small town that he loved and that loved him. Here he was not treated like an upper middle-class lawyer but like one of their own and he revelled in the feeling of normalcy when he came. He wouldn't usually leave Oscar so soon after putting him to bed, after all he only came every weekend and wanted to spend as much time with the boy as possible, but James had invited him to his studio party and it would have been bad form to not attend- especially given that James was not opposed to dragging him there if he had to. He loved the busy-ness of these parties, the happiness and light-hearted jollying of everyone that attended.

He stood at the edge of the room, watching the goings on with a smile and enjoying the warmth of the fire in comparison to the torrential downpour outside. He could have seen the sea out of the far window if it weren't for the overcrowding in the studio blocking the view from sight.

Soon, predictably, the party was hushed very aggressively by James in order to restore silence so he could recite his latest poem. It was remarkably quick how he did it, James always did have an odd kind of authority even when intoxicated by drink, and he read out his work with equal amounts of fervour and gusto, enrapturing the party into stunned silence.

That was, until he was interrupted by a loud and abrasive knock at the studio door. Everyone turned in shock and watched as Laura tentatively opened the door and invited the person into the room and out of the storm immediately.

"My god, you must be freezing come in, come on in girl."

Laura ushered her through the door and closed it against the harsh gale to shut the cold out. Matthew snapped out of his reverie when the silence died away and people began to resume the party again, but instead of also continuing to talk he fetched his jacket from the stand and offered it to the shivering, soaking girl that stood in the doorway. She was drenched from head to toe, but between her hat and travelling cloak, little of her could be seen. When she removed her hat, she revealed long, dark hair held up in an elegant bun and dark eyes that glinted. Even after walking through the wind and rain on the cliffs, she maintained elegance in her form and was quite simply the most beautiful woman Matthew had ever seen in his life.

He gave her a smile which she returned as he helped her off with her sodden coat and wrapped his jacket around her shaking shoulders. Matthew took her things and went away to hang them up. Mary looked around the room with distaste, not only was her master a callous, heartless father that didn't care enough to live with his son or bring his son to live with him, but he was also a drunkard going by the occupants of this room. The only gentleman seemed to be the man that had offered her his jacket, and he couldn't have been any more than two or three years older than herself meaning he was far too young to be the father of the three-year-old boy.

Whichever one of these men happened to be Matthew Crawley, at least she knew he had a respectable upbringing, a respectable job, a respectable position in society and a rather nice mother. However awfully he treated his son, he at least was raised into a family with some ideas about class.

A dark-haired man approached her with a rather dashing debonair smile, his hand outstretched. Mary reached out to shake it, not expecting him to make a show of kissing her gloved hand before he straightened up and introduced himself. "Hugo Maudsley," he said, staring into her eyes with an eyebrow flicked upwards, "pleased to make your acquaintance."

Mary had devised rules when she made her decision to run away from home, and the number one rule was to withhold her title and her precise identity. No one could know she was the daughter of Lord Grantham. She could not, and would not, let anyone know she was, by birth right and upbringing, a great Lady.

"Mary Levinson," she said. She knew his game and knew his intentions very well. "Mr Maudsley," she began, if he was so bent on impressing her she could at least use his help to find who she was looking for. But he interrupted her.

"Hugo, please," he said politely.

"Hugo," she corrected giving him a flirtatious smile to encourage him to help her, "I wondered if you would know if there is a Matthew Crawley hereabouts?"

Hugo raised an eyebrow at this strange mention of his friend.

"I was told I could find him here." She said, hoping to hurry the man to an answer, glancing around the jam-packed room. Another man sidled up next to Hugo, and smiled at her, offering his hand. He was about to say something when the blonde man who's coat she was wearing came over and eyed him sternly.

"James, I warn you, don't say anything you'll regret," he said raising an eyebrow at the man and giving him a very clear warning look. Mary would be impoverished if she didn't think the gesture thoughtful- she didn't like people fighting her battles for her, she could do that perfectly well herself.

"Ah, I was just looking for you!" Hugo exclaimed toward the blonde man.

"Were you?" the blonde asked incredulously.

"Yes," Hugo confirmed, "Yes. Miss Levinson here, was told she could find you here."

Mary's gaze at once hardened at the blonde man, whom apparently was the infamous Matthew Crawley, and she eyed him warily, a hard look behind her eyes. So, he was the man who gladly abandoned his child. She had to admit she had not seen that coming.

"Miss Levinson?" Matthew's eyes widened as he exclaimed in surprise. "But you're not due until tomorrow!" He looked concerned, his eyebrows furrowed as he thrust his long-forgotten drink over to a thoroughly bewildered, and rather amused, James.

"Clearly I've come early." She stated, rather coldly. Was it not obvious? Realising that he was her employer- she'd have to get used to holding her tongue- she continued. "Your mother did mention to me that perhaps she may have muddled the dates."

"Dear god, I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have gone out if I'd known." Matthew gushed, nervously. "Well, um… if you want a drink then you're welcome to stay but otherwise I'm afraid we'll have to walk back to the house." He grimaced and looked at her to try and gauge her reaction.

She did not look pleased.

"Don't let me spoil your night, I'm sure I can find my own route." Her voice had a bite to it- something cold and irritable that annoyed Matthew and intrigued him in equal measure.

"Nonsense," he dismissed, only showing the slightest hint of his indignation through his tone, "I know a shortcut; besides, the staff may be asleep and you'll need someone to show you to your room."

Mary sighed.

"Take my coat," Matthew said, his gentlemanly habits overtaking his current vexation. "I'll send for your cloak and hat in the morning. I trust the station master will have sent on your bags from the train?"

"He has said so," Mary answered, clearly sceptical about each and every fibre making up this new and, in her opinion anyway, unsavoury environment.

"Ah good," Matthew smiled. "Well I suppose I should formally introduce myself, I'm Matthew Crawley."

He held out his hand.

Mary narrowed her eyes at him.

"Mary Levinson," she replied after a tense battle of glances exchanged between them.

She took his hand and they lingered in their hold for just a bit longer than was necessary.

Neither were completely sure why.

* * *

"Well I do hope you last longer than the rest of them have," Matthew said, guiding her through a narrow pathway along the cliff edge.

Mary did not think much about this man's apparent shortcut. It seemed awfully long.

"Although do be careful," he warned, "You're the youngest governess he has had so far as he has managed to drive older and more experienced people to distraction."

"I'm twenty-one," Mary said indignantly, "That's old enough. And I am not faint-hearted I can assure you."

Matthew a little taken aback by her briskness, shook it off as a faint joke.

"That bodes well."

She pursed her lips, more mindful than perhaps she should have been of the gentle hand of his that rested above her shoulder blade as they negotiated some particularly rocky terrain leading down a steep hill, muddied by the thick falling of rain.

"I really am so dreadfully sorry about this mix up with the dates," he said, as they trudged across what must have been the third field they'd walked through that night. "Of course, I'll reimburse you for any damage to your clothing and investigate the mix up of lifts at the station. You should have been driven to the house."

Mary silently sighed. He talked an awful lot.

She found herself slightly aggravated by the part of her that found it endearing.

"How much further is it? I can't see a thing."

Indeed, through the storm and raging winds, the fog and cloud that eclipsed the moonlight, the lamp that Matthew held bore the only light visible and it barely illuminated any few metres before them.

He squinted in the dim light, apparently being able to recognise the common surroundings despite the inhibiting factors.

"Another few minutes down this path and we'll have reached the road. The drive way is quite long but the walk will be easier on flat ground. We'll be in the grounds of the house soon enough."

She looked at him, for the first time realising that, in giving up both coat and jacket to her, he had been left sacrificed to the elements in nought but a soaked through shirt.

She looked too long, however, and only managed to snap her eyes way when he noticed where her gaze was directed.

"Here we are," Matthew said, jumping down a swift jut of rock onto a clear pathway. This must be the road, Mary thought, relieved to be at least nearing some kind of noticeable civilisation.

He held up a hand to help her down the jump, but she did not take it, jumping it clean herself without his assistance.

He couldn't help but feel rather impressed.

Soon enough, the pair arrived at a large gateway; two stone pillars towered above either of their own heads, bearing two large cast iron gates, welded into an intricate spiral pattern. Mary admired them thoughtfully, wondering what kind of estate sat beyond them—not that she'd be able to spectacle in it that night.

Matthew pushed open a gate with a loud creak and held it open for her to enter in front of him. He pushed it to once on the other side, grimacing at the noise it made for a second time.

"I really ought to sort that out," he noted, more to himself than her.

There were three separate pathways that led in askew directions and Mary stopped short, unsure which one to take.

"This way."

Matthew smiled again, guiding her down the middle path, brandishing his lamp high before him.

They could barely see the house before they got to it, arriving at a large oak door that looked rather like a side door or secret entrance, as entwined with ivy as it was.

Matthew pushed it open.

"If ever you should come back late for one reason or another, Mrs Lynn will leave this door unlocked for you. I'll make certain you're given a key, so you can lock it from the inside when you return."

"Thank you," she voiced, unsure there was anything else to be said.

He ushered her in and out of the rain, turning to lock the door behind him. she instantly felt the benefit of being inside, the warm fire of a secondary entrance hall flickering in a grate and lamps about the room lit it up like a homely cavern. It was cosy and suitably so, with many different doors she supposed led to other rooms and halls or corridors. There was a staircase against the far wall, carpeted with red with a thick wooden banister.

To her surprise, Matthew helped her off with his coat and hung it up before addressing her.

"I'll give you the full tour of the estate tomorrow, but for now I'll show you to your room and leave a note for Anna—she's the head housemaid—to provide you with a bath in the morning. The staff will not be expecting as of yet, so you can take breakfast with Teddy and I or later should you prefer to sleep in."

He offered her a gentle smile, leaving his jacket on her shoulders.

He went to one of the doors, revealing a hidden winding staircase.

"Follow me, it's a direct route to the wing we've put you in."

She raised an eyebrow at this, thinking the house's many different routes to the same place strange and unfamiliar. Stirring up intrepidity, she followed him finding herself being led to an intriguing large corridor with windows that, sans darkness, would have looked out upon the gardens of the estate. Her room was through a far door and up a short couple of steps.

Matthew lit the room, making sure her things had been delivered properly before stepping out of the threshold once more.

"This is where I say goodnight," he muttered, unsure of the protocol for these kinds of situations—none of the other governesses had arrived in such an uncouth way, or, indeed, had made quite the impression that Mary had. He found himself transfixed by her delicate features, briefly allowing himself to behold the beauty in her countenance.

He took her hand, bringing it to his lips for the most fleeting of moments.

"Goodnight, Miss Levinson," he whispered.

Bewildered, feeling estranged to her own emotions, she replied in a daze.

"Goodnight, Mr Crawley."

* * *

A/N - thoughts? any good or should I abandon it altogether?


	2. Chapter 2

**The White Room, Arnhall Castle, May 1921**

* * *

Mary emerged from her bath the next morning in a more optimistic spirit than by far she was used to. Her previous employ had required her to become an early riser and even in the two years she'd attempted to accustom herself to the routine it had not indented itself to her nature. It felt good to be given purchase to awaken at her leisure; a pleasure of her former life she had indeed missed.

She wrapped herself in a blue gown, expensive thin silk embroidered with white flowers—yet another reminder of the former life she'd given up—and picked up a towel that had been laid on her bed earlier that morning by Anna, the bubbly head-housemaid.

Mary idly sauntered to the window, drying her hair absentmindedly as she looked out across the stretch of gardens before her. The grounds were vast, somewhat wild and untamed, and beyond them lay a few fields, a cliff edge and then the sea. She cast her gaze from the sumptuous view, looking down to the garden directly beside the house so see two figures on the grass. One was familiar, with messy blonde hair and a floppy fringe he habitually swept back with a careless hand, holding a ball in with his other grip. The second, small and dark headed, must have been the boy, brandishing his cricket bat before the wickets and giving it a clumsy swing as the man threw.

He hit the ball, but even from her height Mary could tell the bowl had been deliberately easy. The boy ran, dropping his bat behind him and dashing somewhat uncoordinatedly toward the other post. He was stopped in his tracks by the man, meeting the child half way and sweeping him up into his arms. The boy screamed with laughter as Matthew tickled him, his wriggling body flopping back until he was being held upside down. He laughed extatically as he was dangled by his ankles before Matthew picked him up properly in one easy motion, placing him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and running between the flowerbeds as more giggles erupted from the child.

Mary found herself smiling at the scene.

There was a knock at her bedroom door.

"Yes?"

A slender, more elderly woman bustled into the room. Her hair, greying at the temples, was held in a bun so neat and tight it looked as though it may rip her scalp out with it.

"'ello, dear," She said with a thick accent, though Mary wasn't quite sure from whence it came.

She fervently hoped this woman would not make a habit out of referring to her as 'dear'.

"I'm Mrs Lynn, the house keeper," she introduced herself.

"Pleased to meet you," Mary replied, disingenuously. The woman seemed far too jovial and forward for her liking.

"The master said you might be up late and in which case you're to breakfast with 'im and master Edward. They've been out in the garden all mornin', bless 'em."

Mrs Lynn, Mary thought, talked too much.

The woman walked over to the window.

Mary vaguely wondered when she was going to leave.

"It's a lovely day," she voiced, wistfully. "Given the storm last night I was expectin' somethin' a bit drearier."

She had to reluctantly agree with the woman on that score; it was a beautiful day.

Soon enough, Mrs Lynn promptly left Mary to dress and, since donning a white blouse and blue skirt, she made her intrepid way to search for the dining room.

The pathways in the great house were confusing and seemingly non-ending, causing Mary to grow tired of hunting out the room and instead embark on finding Mr Crawley in the garden.

* * *

The brightness came as a surprise to her eyes, bringing her hand to shield her brow from the sheer brilliance of the sun. She glanced around, taking in the wide garden and earthly scent of grass fresh from rain. Wandering a little further, through hedges and shrubberies alike, she heard laughter of a child before she spotted either Mr Crawley or Teddy.

She rounded another corner, finding herself greeted by a large pond, by which the pair of them lay on their fronts side by side, leaning over the edge of the bank as Mr Crawley pointed out the fish beneath the water surface to the fascinated young boy.

Unknowing how to announce herself, as neither had noticed her presence—too wrapped as they were in their own little world—she stayed stood still to the spot for a long moment, watching their antics with an eyebrow raised in confused disapproval.

After a short moment, patience had admittedly never been her strong suit, she gave a short cough, to which, she observed with a badly stifled laugh, Matthew looked up sharpish in her direction, eyes widening in shocked embarrassment, rather like a startled mouse. Teddy made no means to move until Matthew pushed himself up from the ground in a flustered rush to which the small boy scrambled up and stepped behind Matthew, peering round his leg to see her whilst obscuring himself from her view.

"Good morning, Miss Levinson," Matthew offered bashfully, brushing himself off a bit giving her a somewhat awkward grin. "I trust you slept well?"

"I did rather, thank you," she answered, giving him a scrutinising look as he gulped under her obviously thoughtful gaze. "The flowers in my room were a pleasant gift."

He seemed cheered at this.

"I'm afraid that was my doing," he said, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair. "I don't think flower arranging is one of my skills unfortunately."

She gave an amused laugh her voice unexpectedly teasing, "But you're an accomplished flower collector?"

He blushed. "It's not the most manly of occupations is it? I don't usually do it, but Mr Skelper, the gardener, is on leave and I think it makes a nicer welcome than a bare room."

His smile re-emerged, and she noticed quite suddenly just how exceedingly bright the depths of his blue eyes were—crinkled sweetly at the edges when he grinned.

"Well," he turned to the boy who hid behind him, pushing him gently on the shoulder so he emerged from behind his legs, "Teddy, this is Miss Levinson, your new governess."

Matthew turned to Mary.

"And this is little Edward," he said, ruffling the boy's dark hair.

Mary eyed the boy with interest. He looked little like his father, she thought fleetingly; they shared no similar features—for, where Mr Crawley's eyes were a bright and vibrant blue, Edward's were a deep green in colour and though Mr Crawley possessed messy golden blonde hair it was polar opposite to that off the young boy's chestnut brown and somewhat unruly locks. The child smiled widely at her, his grin was cheerful and sweet, if a little mischievous, his little nose twitching as he pushed his round glasses more firmly to his face with a clumsy hand.

"But we all call him Teddy; his mother didn't believe the full name suited a child and neither do we really," Matthew finished. He smiled at Mary, once again admiring the perfection in her countenance, the depth and beauty beheld in her dark eyes. She was elegant in stature and graceful in movement, her stance was dignified and look distinguished. It felt to him at once that he was captivated by the presence of beauty herself and yet there was so much hidden behind her radiant profile that he was left inwardly muddled as to where he stood. He was her employer, and yet she had an air of superiority about her that almost weakened him at the knees.

"Hello Miss Levinson," Teddy stuck out his little hand toward her, still grinning innocently. "I'm Teddy," he announced the name proudly with childish vigour and Mary gently shook his hand, a little non-plussed. Having lived the life she had done up to last year, her experience with children was limited to when she herself was one and her own governess, a disagreeably fierce and somewhat beefy woman, was not an example she wished to follow. She was out of her depth, but she knew she would never admit it.

Matthew led them promptly inside to the dining room for breakfast and then gave her his tour of the house. She was told Teddy's night routine, briefed on his illness and told her terms, all of which went by largely uneventfully until she got back to her room and took a seat, planning to write to her granny as promised on her arrival before heading back to the drawing room where Teddy had been left to play.

As she sat, she felt a wriggling in the pocket of her cardigan. She frowned in nervous anticipation, moving a hand in to remove whatever deplorable thing had been put in there.

Mary yelped, her palm bringing out a frog, and clamped a hand over her mouth a second later, swiftly moving to dispose of the slimy creature out of the open window. She blew out a huffed breath, knowing her irritation would be best placed under careful management. Teddy was young, after all, and despite her vexation she couldn't take it out on the child. That would only make things worse. He'd rid himself of thirteen governesses over a two year period, but he was going to have to do better than a mere frog if he wanted to add her to the list.

When she returned to the upstairs drawing room, she found him silently sat by his toy train, watching the door in waiting for her to return. She could tell he was anticipating anger, so she found a small victory in offering him nought but a smile, seating herself poised on the sofa and opening a book with a falsely innocent breeziness. As if nothing had happened.

She saw, out of the corner of her eye, the boy's face screw up in concentration and eyes narrow in deep thought, no doubt cooking up his next plan.

It didn't take him long to work one out because the next time it was a mouse.

* * *

 **The White Room, Arnhall Castle, June 1921**

* * *

 _Dearest Sybil,_

 _Arnhall Castle is a vast place, not quite the size or picture of excellence that Downton has always been, but beautiful with a more modest nature. It is haphazard in layout, full of corners for hiding in, nooks and cupboards that pose exiting prospects for a child as young as Teddy. There are fully furnished rooms that have been left barely used, a grand piano in the second drawing room that hasn't been played in years—or so Anna, the head housemaid, tells me. It's full of undiscovered pathways to unknown places; rooms that lead rooms, quarters that wind around each other, halls that intersect to other halls and landings stretching to many mangled staircases. It has character, but it is not what I am used to. Sometimes, I will open a door and, expecting a room, will be surprised to be greeted by another twisting path of stairs leading to god knows where. It is easy to get lost and I do so frequently. It is nice, homely, and yet I do not believe I will feel quite at home anywhere but Downton._

 _My own room is a beautiful open expanse with bay windows looking over a large four poster bed. A tall wardrobe stands adjacent to it, a lamp either side before white walls atop polished wooden floorboards. It is called the white room, which is apt, and according to Anna has been revived in its use for my purposes only. I've been given a bathroom en suite and after two years moving through shared houses and small hotels it's nice to see the familiarity of a bell chord by the door and be afforded luxuries that I have dearly missed. There are deep blue curtains at either window end to shroud the glass in dark once night falls and a vase of flowers has been placed in the view of the morning light, new by look and I surmise that, without other option, they must have been picked fresh for me. It might perhaps be a welcoming gesture, but I suspect it is more likely a ploy to help convince me to stay, for I gather from Anna that if I make it three months, I will have been the longest staying governess as of yet. Apparently, Teddy makes a nuisance of himself deliberately to be rid of each one and in the past weeks I've learnt that I make no exception._

 _Teddy is remarkably skilled in employing his knowledge of the house to his advantage; he's a mischievous little boy, unceasing in his pranks and attempts to be rid of me since the first frog I found in my pocket. There have been spiders in my hat, mice in my wardrobe, I could go on but I fear this letter would be exceedingly long. He likes to hide from me to avoid lessons—which are timetabled by Mrs Crawley and so infrequent that it he'd be better off getting them over with—and due to how unaccustomed I am to the ins and outs of Arnhall, he is mostly victorious in these attempts._

 _Mr Crawley, as ever, baffles me. Teddy is in his sole charge during weekends—although when I relayed this to granny in my last letter, her only reply was to query as to what a weekend actually was—and it seems to be the only time where Teddy is truly happy. They spend their Saturdays playing cricket in the garden if it's fine and if it's not they play together inside, either with Teddy's prized brass train set or another one of his toys; occasionally I've caught them at hide and seek, in which Mr Crawley looks truly ridiculous squeezing into a cupboard that looks far to small to fit someone half his height. On Sundays they go to church, a tradition which I have strayed from, something I have refrained from notifying granny of, but the more time I see them spending together, the more I cannot fathom why Mr Crawley continues to leave Teddy when he seems to love him more than many fathers I've known._

 _I am sorry to hear that you're so restless. Perhaps Mama could be persuaded to allow you to do something more industrious but your chances of getting Papa to allow you to get involved in politics are slimmer than none— as for granny, well, I doubt she'll be agreeable to your going canvassing._

 _Do pass on my love to Carson, but, as always, be mindful to keep this letter where it won't be found. I hear from granny that Papa will not give up trying to find me and should he find you've been in contact with me he may be angry with you for keeping my whereabouts secret and I do not wish for you to suffer on my account._

 _I miss you dearly—all of you—even Edith some of the time—so do write back and tell me everything that goes on in my absence. I do miss much of the drama at the dinner table._

 _All my love, your sister,_

 _Mary._

* * *

She passed Teddy's bedroom on her way to her own bed every night. On the days of the week when Mr Crawley worked in Manchester, it was her responsibility to make sure the child was in bed at the correct time; she was to be the one to get him to swallow his medicine, brush his teeth, lay his glasses on the bedside cabinet and lay down. But on weekends, it was Mr Crawley who took over his night time routine and this puzzled her. She would be given the evenings to rein free, a very uncouth arrangement she was sure, and she'd spend this time reading or walking or writing to Sybil. But every night, when she passed his room on her way to bed, she'd see the light from the lamp beside his bed and through the gap in the door—always left ajar—she'd see Teddy laughing from under his covers, Mr Crawley sat next to him on the bed, tickling him mercilessly until he begged happily for him to cease. Only when he did stop, the boy would giggle and chant for him to continue.

He seemed to love his son, and Mary couldn't fathom why on earth he continued to leave him. Because, during the week, Teddy was comparatively miserable. He stared out of the window during lessons, barely paying grudging attention and put little energy into playing during his free time. it was sad, yet she was powerless to change it.

When she came to her room, she found the window closed—opposite to how she left it—with a chilling night breeze, despite the hot summers day that had preceded it, allowed to blow in. She moved to close it, sauntering calmly over, drawing the curtains in the process where she heard a faint hissing from the floor.

Instinctively, she leapt back, her eye line jumping downward where, to her absolute horror, a great green snake lay, adorned with black streaks on what she could only describe as its sides.

Mary was not a squeamish person, for all, what you might've called, a sheltered upbringing, she did not find many manners of creatures as disturbing as many others did. Spiders were less than frightening in her opinion, frogs seemingly a little unhygienic but otherwise part of the mundane, mice a simple nuisance, but snakes—snakes were where she drew the line.

Her dwellings on how sorry she felt for Teddy ceased then and there as she pondered how to get rid of the thing. Asking for Mr Crawley's help was a concept she found wholly unenticing. She could ask Anna, but doubted she wished to deal with it anymore than she did.

Mary sighed, pulling a large book from her shelf and approaching the thing in trepidation and disgust. It was a grass snake, she knew that much, so it was perfectly harmless, but the idea of touching it made her feel simply nauseous. She lay the book before it, without any real credence to her plan, backed away and waited. The snake slithered over the cover, curling around the spine and resting there. Mary took a deep breath, grit her teeth and picked up the book from an uncovered corner, holding it outside the window and giving it a good shake. It dropped off with relative ease and she brought the book back inside, replaced it on the shelf and closed the window.

She let out a deep, shuddering breath, checking the rest of the room thoroughly before retiring to bed in the knowledge there were no other hidden monsters for her to sort out.

Teddy had yet to meet a governess quite as formidable and determined as Mary. She wasn't tenacious exactly, that would be the entirely wrong description, but Teddy was blissfully unaware what he was getting himself into.

He'd have to do better than that to contend with her.

* * *

 **The upstairs library, Arnhall Castle, June 1921**

* * *

It was an impressive room—not so much that it outshone her father's magnificent library, but like everything at Arnhall it was warm and pleasing to look upon.

Matthew sat on one of the sofas, reclined easily against the back, flicking through a copy of _The Times_ with wavering interest.

He glanced up as she came in, folding his newspaper and placing it to one side.

"Miss Levinson!" He called, catching her attention.

Mary turned to him and stopped, smiling automatically despite herself. It was almost strange to see him back for the weekend without Teddy around to occupy his every second. She was about to question the boy's whereabouts, but Matthew sensed the query on her lips and gave an answer before she could produce the words.

"He went exploring the kitchens, most likely to beg Mrs Crabtree for extra biscuits."

Mary nodded to this, averting her eyes as she caught herself staring once again into his. It was becoming an accidental habit that she needed to cut out.

"Please sit down." Matthew waved to the seat opposite. "I wanted to speak with you, as a matter of fact."

"Oh?" Surprised by this, she took a seat.

"Yes well," he started, somewhat clumsily, "Mary, it seems a little strange for us to be working in such close proximity without really knowing a thing about each other."

Mary, startled by the informal address raised an eyebrow a little disapprovingly. She knew enough about him, she thought defiantly.

"Well," she said, "What would like to know?"

"Where are you from? What are your hobbies? Any little thing you may think pointless to help me get to know you a little."

This seemed such an odd request.

Mary cocked her head to the side, attempting to gauge why his smile seemed so genuinely well meaning when she knew very well it couldn't possibly have been. A man like him would hardly want to get to know his employees. A man who barely spent time at home, with his child, in favour of whatever good-for-nothing activities he engaged in in the city, surely would not be interested in her hobbies.

But she studied his countenance thoroughly and found no trace of falsehood there, so she answered his query, trying all the while not to give too much away.

"I'm grew up in a village in Yorkshire," she started plainly. "My mother is American—much to my granny's distaste, I might add – and my father…" she didn't quite know what to say without outwardly lying. "…works on an estate."

He nodded along. "Do you have any siblings?"

"No brothers," she answered, "which has always been a sore point in my family, but I have too younger sisters, the youngest, Sybil, is seventeen and a darling, the other, Edith, is twenty and I can't say we've ever thought much of each other."

"Differing personalities?" He asked.

"She broke my favourite doll when I was six, in return I put her favourite dress on a pig."

Matthew laughed heartily, and she couldn't help by join him slightly, much to her own distaste.

"But yes," she continued. "Mostly differing personalities. Although I can't say I'm much like Sybil either. She's very political, very hands on and doesn't really care what other people think. I'm interested but find politics hard to get particularly exited about and I'm afraid I do care of others' opinions."

She asked him a little about himself and inwardly scolded her own curiosity for it. He answered in kind—his mother, whom she'd met, was a nurse, father a doctor who passed away when he was nineteen. She felt sorry when he got to that bit, reluctantly softening under his beguiling bright gaze. There was something about him she couldn't quite fathom out, something that felt intrinsically obvious and, yet she was missing it, making whatever it was all the more mysterious.

He was amusing, and she found herself laughing at his humour, smiling at his jokes and listening to what he had to say, replying jovially as whatever awkward feeling there had earlier been seemed to disappear. She had momentarily forgotten about the reason she held him in such low regard, instead letting the conversation flow naturally between them.

When Teddy came bouncing in, however, she snapped herself back to reality, offering his bewildered expression a quick goodbye before she excused herself to go for a walk to the village.

* * *

 **The White room, Arnhall Castle, July 1921**

* * *

She woke with a start, alarmed by the sound that alerted her from her sleep. It sounded like broken glass, perhaps the smashing of a window or the shattering of a mirror, but it was enough to throw her unceremoniously from slumber and encourage her to move from the comfort of her bed, throwing off the covers and donning a dressing gown with a little haste. It was an uncouth Friday night; Matthew had phoned from Manchester to say he would not be arriving until the following morning and what had been a humid and exceedingly hot afternoon had broken into a colossal storm while she slept.

At first, she thought the noise might've been the beginning of another of Teddy's pranks and this led her to grasp a lamp from her bedside, light it, and trail down the hall to the boy's room, but on finding his bed empty, the water glass smashed by his bed and his glasses abandoned on the cabinet, she began to believe that she'd been wrong to jump to such conclusions.

She left his door flung open carelessly as she searched for him about the house, knowing it only just well enough by now to remember which rooms were which. She searched the drawing rooms, both libraries, the whole of the first floor, the servants' hall and kitchens in the basements before reaching Mr Crawley's old study.

On first glance, it looked as if that room too was empty, but a small sniffling from the corner led her over to where he was hidden.

The boy was hunched into a ball underneath the desk, his tiny body shuddering with his face hiding in his knees, arms gripped over his bowed head. He cowered, jumping violently with every crack of thunder and hiding his eyes to shield his vision of the way the room lit up with every flash of lightning.

She moved over to him fluidly, her nightdress floating out behind her as she swept across the room and knelt by the desk. She placed her lamp to one side on the floor, allowing the illumination to let her see him properly. She crouched down very slowly and peered under at him, a hand reaching out to pry his grip from the roots of his hair. She brought his arms slowly from his head, crawling into his hiding place little by little until she was huddled under the desk beside him, giving her purchase to stroke his hair back from his forehead to see his red and water-filled eyes in the dim light.

"Teddy," she murmured, laying a hand on his tense back. He continued to shake in fright, not daring to look anywhere but his knees. He let out a whimper. Mary's heart squeezed.

"Teddy, it's alright," she whispered. "Nothing's going to hurt you."

Goose bumps covered his skin, his slightly oversized pyjamas accentuating how tiny he was.

"Teddy, please listen to me, it's alright."

He gave no indication of accepting her words, still terrified, going back to clutching his head in his arms when another burst of lighting lit the room.

She counted the seconds in her head.

1, 2, 3.

Thunder followed.

Teddy let out a cry of pure terror at the noise and a moment later he'd retreated further into himself than the hunched form she'd found him in, bringing his arms once again to clutch over his head, body conforming to a tightly curled ball with his face buried again to his knees and his small frame rocking with silent sobs.

She breathed out slowly, willing some unknown instinct to tell her what she could do.

She simply couldn't get through to him—perhaps this was the climax of her failings as a governess; she hadn't expected to invest any kind of prestige or feelings in this job, hadn't ever anticipated feeling any more strongly for the child in her care than she would for the child of any stranger, and yet, Teddy unknowingly sought that understanding, that affection, that he felt so deprived of in Mr Crawley's frequent absences. This was to be the reasoning behind his eagerness and determination to be rid of each new governess that stepped into the post—with no constant part of family since his mother passed, it seemed to him, if his schemes worked, it would compel Mr Crawley to come home for good.

She'd never truly been able to understand him, giving no pretence of awareness as to why he played his tricks, and now through his fear defencelessness she saw his vulnerability. He didn't play his tricks out of malice, it had not taken her long to work that out, he did it as a product of his insecurities, a cry for Matthew to stay that had gone unnoticed by everyone.

Everyone but her.

Perhaps if she could lay proof to her care and understanding, she would gain his trust.

"You're safe," she murmured. She could think of little else to say, spilling over any words that might give him some peace from the fear that crippled him under its weight.

He sobbed harder still, breathless and exhausted.

She couldn't fathom what else to say, for she had never been trained or practised in this respect, having never been around children since Sybil had been young and, even then, seeing to her younger sister had never fallen under Mary's responsibilities. She was left at a loss. This child, this small, vulnerable little boy was so desperately afraid and as much as she wished she could retract his pain, she didn't know how.

"Teddy, it's alright. Everything is alright," she paused, stroking back his hair, then adding in a hushed and tender tone: "I promise."

He raised his head slowly, letting his arms go loose and his eyes meet hers for the briefest of seconds.

His lip quivered, tears streaming from his eyes as he wailed loudly, moving into the embrace Mary offered and clutching her tightly as she pulled him from the cold floor and into her lap.

"I've got you, darling," she hushed, "everything's going to be alright."

She wrapped her arms around the child tightly and hushed his terrors using any means she could muster. Mary enveloped the little boy with her body, her back curved, head bowed over his, starting to slowly rock him, fervently hoping the small movements would quell his hurt.

She took her time in shuffling out from under the desk, moving inch by inch and then standing languidly with Teddy still held securely in her arms.

She cradled him gently, feeling the weight of him held against her and recognising how delicate and precious it was. How the child trembled with fear as he sobbed into her nightdress.

"Hush, darling. It's alright now." She felt his cheek press to her shoulder, tears on the cool skin of her neck.

He mumbled something, an innocent and soft cry for his mother that broke her heart. He was referring to her and she could form no reply, for she couldn't go along with it as that would have been just as wrong as acknowledging the plea as a mistake. She hushed him soothingly once more and played to her instincts, holding him and comforting him because he had no one else to do so; he had barely known his mother, Mr Crawley was not at home and his previous governesses were described to her as either cold like those of her own had been or failing to stay long enough to even get to know the boy. Mary had been the same, spiting her teachers to seek the attention of her parents, and, in her, Teddy had met his match. Yet he had also met a kind of kindred spirit. As he clutched her through his tears, as she sang a gentle lullaby to soothe his cries, they formed an unspoken truce.

They knew each other more closely now, and they could be friends because of it.

* * *

 **The Green Room, Arnhall Castle, July 1921**

* * *

"Miss Levinson?"

She woke abruptly, eyes drawing open heavily. She was exhausted, there was a crick in her neck where she'd slept against the edge of the chair by Teddy's bed.

Immediately she looked down at the bed, smiling at where the boy still lay silent and contented, deep in sleep with the blankets neatly tucked around him.

She turned away, seeking the source of the voice and the hand on her shoulder.

Matthew.

Instinctively, she pulled her shawl more comfortably over her shoulders, shielding her nightdress only slightly from his view. She hadn't been so undressed before a man since… she would not think of that now. She shook the thought.

"I do apologise, Mr Crawley—Teddy was frightened by the storm."

He looked perturbed, running a hand through his hair, wrinkles of stress appearing on his forehead, knitting his brows together. He glanced down at the boy lying curled under thick bedsheets, his eyes softening as he nodded to acknowledge what she'd said. It took him a few moments to formulate a reply.

"Him and me both," he muttered.

Somewhere behind his handsome features a shell exploded in the back of his mind, sending shrapnel blasting through flesh caked in thick mud. The smell of blood consumed him. Rotting flesh assaulted his nose. Dirt attacked his every sense.

"Are you alright, Mr Crawley?"

She had her hand on his upper arm, stood up before him with a concerned expression etched in eyes that had grown sympathetic since he'd last focussed on them.

He snapped out of it as quickly as he'd fallen in.

"Fine, thank you, Miss Levinson." He smiled, all traces of a former far-away look cleared away. "Thank you for taking care of him. God knows it should've been me."

She couldn't argue with him on that point.

"I was only glad I could help," she shrugged, her words said loosely to mask her sincerity.

He offered her a smile in thanks.

"I can sit with him until he wakes, you should get some sleep—I know the discomfort of that chair all too well. Gives your neck a trial."

She breathed laughter. "It certainly does," she agreed. "But I promised Teddy I'd stay with him."

Matthew nodded slowly. "Well, when he wakes up, would you be so kind to come and get me?"

"Of course, sir," she answered.

He was halfway to the door when he turned.

"Mary, there's no need to call me sir." He addressed her with her first name again. It felt peculiar. "Matthew would do perfectly fine."

Mary was cold in her answer, her toneless voice making her suddenly remembered ill-feeling toward him accidentally more plain.

"It wouldn't be my place, sir."

* * *

He was in the upstairs drawing room when Mary came in to pack Teddy's toys away from the afternoon before. Matthew had gone in to see him while she had breakfast, had dosed him his medicine and sent him back to sleep for the morning before going to sit in his armchair to mull things over in his tired mind.

She set about packing away the train tracks into a box, resolutely silent.

Matthew could barely think straight—his coherent thoughts unable to string together in a pattern he could either recognise or understand. His mind whirred, feelings overriding everything as he rubbed his neck out of nervous anxiety.

His ponderings burst out of him before he could stop them.

"I can't be here for him like I should be. I suppose it shows how often I'm away."

He put his head in his hands.

"I didn't even know he was afraid of storms," he said, wobbling. "What kind of person does that make me?"

His expression desperate and pained, his eyes implored her for an answer.

Mary kept schtum, feeling that in this state he probably wouldn't appreciate her comments.

"I don't think you'll want my opinion," she said briskly, moving on to tidy away Teddy's train set.

He looked up. "Well, now I feel like I should hear it."

She shook her head.

"Come on," he encouraged, somewhat imploringly. "I won't be offended."

She sighed.

"If you must know, since the moment I walked into the interview with your mother I thought you a rather poor gentleman for the way in which you routinely abandon your child. You accuse me of being cold on occasion or somewhat blunt, but what else can you expect from the person you've hired to take care of your son in your absence?"

She was well into her stride by now, taking him apart piece by piece, without even looking at him—instead focussing on taking apart the train track that lay about the floor.

"You spend the week galivanting around the city, leaving Teddy miserable at home, forced to try and get rid of each governess on his own terms just to play for your attention! You cannot see that he's miserable, you have no idea how afraid he is of some things—including losing your love and if this pains you as much as you pretend then perhaps you should take him to live with you or else stay to live with him at _your home_."

She paused to match her hard eyes to his, staring harshly at him, disregarding the expression she found written there.

He looked blown back, his hair sticking up at a strange angle adding to his unkempt and bewildered expression of coffudlement and shock.

His eyebrows knitted together, face wrinkling in confusion before realisation dawned upon him and his surprise at her assumption became more apparent.

"Mary…" he started; his voice was very calm and very quiet. "Teddy isn't my son."

His words were slow spoken and even slower to sink in.

She didn't say anything and instead remained silent and still in shock. The reason why Teddy never called Matthew papa suddenly became abundantly clear.

She got up and headed to the door, needing to be alone to clear her head.

She found herself wandering aimlessly about the house, finally going downstairs to seek Anna after a little thought, a particular purpose and question in mind.

* * *

 **The servants' hall, Arnhall Castle, July 1921**

* * *

"He's the kindest man alive," she said honestly. "Certainly, the best one I've ever met. Most would have thought he'd be bitter, given the circumstances, but he's so kind to young master Edward."

"What do you mean: given the circumstances?" Mary asked, perplexed at how this strange man had come to ward a child that was not his own.

"Well you see, when the Master's maternal grandfather died, all of his fortune along with Arnhall Castle itself was, by law, left to his eldest son—master's uncle—I think his names was Charles- but of course he fought in the Boer War and was sadly killed. So, Charles's son Lawrence, the master's cousin, stood to inherit. He was killed in the Great War, six months before his son was born. Master Crawley was heartbroken of course, but rich as creases being the next in line. And then it was discovered that Lawrence's widow was pregnant with his child, little Master Edward was born, and the Master was disinherited; sent back to living on his wits."

"Then the Spanish flu…" Mary whispered, knowing what fate had befallen Teddy's mother.

"Yes," Anna nodded gravely, "The pandemic in 1918 left Master Edward an orphan. They would have sent him to a workhouse, but Master Crawley took on the house and young Edward, but refused to use the boy's money to pay for it out of principal. So, of course, as you know, he works as a lawyer up in Manchester to support it all, but he can't see the boy as much as he'd like. He lives up there with his mother during the week and then he comes down to see master Edward on weekends."

"Why didn't Teddy go to live with him up there?"

"Mr Crawley didn't want to take Edward away from his home so young, he was under the impression the city was no place for a child to grow up and that his cousin would have wanted him to have a good childhood. It's terribly sad. I think both Master Crawley and Master Edward find the arrangement difficult—when it started I suppose the fact that Mr Crawley would grow to love the boy went unthought of, and now it's too late to change. Master Edward benefits but Master Crawley is left with no prospects, attached to a child that leaves him with almost no hope of marriage. It's desperately sad."

Mary felt her stomach lurch in guilt and she closed her eyes for a second, trying desperately to take it all in. After all this time, she'd believed he was simply a cad that was prepared to leave his child for his own gain. She had no idea of his motives, no idea that in actual fact he had sacrificed his way of life to take care of a boy he had no obligation to and worked all week to support a child that, not only wasn't his, but also had taken away the fortune that would have made his own life far more simple.

* * *

 **Porthcurno Village, Emelle Cliffs, Cornwall, July 1921**

* * *

She went with them to church that next day for the first time since she'd arrived. The sea lay near still and silent beneath the jutting cliffs, any trace of mid-summer storm lost upon the gentle lapping of the waves against the beach. The service was just as mundane as any other, but the Sunday sun was bright and cheerful, warming the earth under its glare. It shone through the stained-glass windows, projecting coloured patterns over the alter and pews.

Mary glanced at them both in equal measure throughout, Matthew watched silently, but the cadence of his eyes told her his thoughts were elsewhere inclined. Teddy, however, paid rapt attention that was unheard of coming from any child his age, his gaze trained to the front the entire time, hands still in his lap, one fist clutching the stems of a bunch of flowers he'd picked from the garden before they departed.

It was warm when they trailed outside, and all three squinted in the comparative brightness. Teddy climbed onto Matthew's back, but to Mary's surprise they turned into the churchyard rather than taking the path back into the village. She followed behind, unsure where they were headed.

They walked across a couple of paths, stepping over the grass where Matthew knelt for Teddy to climb off. He padded over to a grave. Matthew followed, taking the old flowers from a vase that stood before it.

Mary stood back as Teddy knelt down before the headstone, his clumsy fist pushing the stems of his flowers into the old vase once Matthew had righted it. She read the inscription from afar, keeping a tender eye on the little boy as he kissed his hand and pressed it to the lettering. Catherine Turnbull had been her name, beloved mother, only four years older than Mary herself was now when she had died. The name below, Lawrence Turnbull, beloved husband and father, had an earlier date of death but the writing was the same age. He'd died at war, and Mary added the pieces together in her mind, realising that, although his name was on the stone he was likely buried in the war graves they'd left in France, his name carved on after his wife died for their son's benefit.

Matthew shuffled closer, laying a hand to ruffle Teddy's hair before sweeping some dirt from the top of the stone.

He then stepped back, leaving Teddy to have a moment alone.

Mary averted her gaze as he came up beside her and then looked across his features to the serene sea behind him.

They were silent for a while.

"Do you believe in god?" He asked, breaking the moment of quiet, more to Mary's relief than anything.

"I've never quite been sure," she replied. "I'd like to think there's something or someone up there, but I don't believe I have much credence with them, whoever they are."

He nodded, wondering what she meant and deciding to leave his question unasked.

"What about you?" She questioned in return.

"The idea of there being a god scares me," he answered, "almost as much as the idea of there not being one."

It was an eloquent answer, showing a raw truth to him that she'd only been able to observe recently.

He was a nice man. A good man. In retrospect it seemed absurd that she hadn't seen so earlier.

Teddy backed away, taking Matthew's hand on one side and Mary's hand in the other.

"Can we get a dog?" He asked, looking up at Matthew hopefully.

* * *

 _Dearest Sybil,_

 _Since the last time I wrote it seems there is much to say. We were hit by a storm two nights past and I was woken by a shattering of glass that naturally led me to check on Teddy. After finding him absent from his bedroom I searched the house and uncovered him huddled under a desk in Mr Crawley's old study. The poor child was terrified, and it took me a long while to calm him yet once I did he seemed contented to allow me to bring him to bed, even wanting me to stay by his side until the storm had passed. Since then we have come to an undesignated truce—he has ceased his attempts to be rid of me and in return I have not only promised to teach him to use a telephone, but since then he has also roped me into a trip to the beach. He's a sweet boy really, a little overzealous at times and too enthusiastic for his own health—his tired wheezing when his lungs play up often scares me—but altogether he is a kind, gentle and often charming child, currently barraging Mr Crawley to buy him a puppy._

 _Then there's the other thing—it's a long story really to explain how I came about the knowledge, but after I eventually ranted my disapproval of Mr Crawley's continued abandonment of Teddy to him, he, unaware that I had no idea until that moment, told me that he was not Teddy's father. Subsequently, my feelings regarding him have softened slightly and I find myself regretting somewhat the occasional cold way in which I may have addressed or dismissed him. I gained the whole unusual tale from Anna…_

Mary went on to explain the circumstances, her letter becoming long as she recounted the sad story of Teddy's parents and the passing fortune, adding a lighter note to the end of her returning habit of church going and the impending beach trip that Teddy had decided upon. She signed off to a the sound of laughter outside and went to the window, looking down over the gardens, bathed in orange light from the setting sun, to see Teddy reaching up to the apple tree from a seat on Matthew's shoulders. He giggled as Matthew jumped to allow him to reach the apple he wanted, swiping at it with a pudgy hand, missing each time.

Mary just laughed, smiling slightly, and rolled her eyes.

* * *

A/N - hope this was ok. Thanks for all the reviews, I really appreciate them. To those that said Mary leaving was pretty unbelievable, I have to say I agree with you, however in this story there is another reason for her leaving which will be brought up later on, until then, I have to say it does seem pretty unfathomable. Thanks for reading! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Downton Abbey, August 1906**

* * *

The heat from the morning sun was thick and heavy, birds and crickets sang a lazy song of summer and the day started slowly, languidly, shifting on steadily without notice. Mary padded lightly over to her father's bathroom and stood on the threshold looking in, dressed neatly in a sweet blue day dress. Her feet were still bare, for she'd snapped at her sister and taken off at a run to escape nanny's scolding before she'd finished being dressed.

She watched with eyebrows furrowed in confusion as her father lathered his jaw and upper neck with a brush and his shaving cream. She stepped in slowly, her dark hair long and loose behind her.

"Papa?" She asked gently, her voice inquisitive and uncharacteristically innocent.

Robert turned, a smile emerging at the sight of his eldest daughter held elegantly inside the doorway, her delicate lips curved to a soft smile, little back straight and poised, head held high.

"Why do you do that?" She voiced after a second.

Robert lay the razor down on the side board for a minute and crouched down, beckoning his girl forward with both arms open. She came to them eagerly and allowed him to stroke a stray eyelash from her cheek before picking her up, as small and light as she was, and placing her so she was seated nicely on the edge of the basin, her legs swinging down below her.

"I do it for you, my darling," he answered her query simply, taking up the razor once again and slowly taking away the cream and the stubble with it.

Mary watched in silent fascination.

"Tell me, my dearest girl, which kinds of kisses do you prefer?"

He placed the blade down, making sure it was not within certain distance of his daughter, and tickled her so she giggled happily while he spoke, his words emphatic and given with a nurturing softness.

"Bristly, spikey and scratchy ones," he poked her nose with an affectionate finger, "Or smooth, silky and soft ones."

"Soft ones," Mary nodded after a moment of careful thought.

"Exactly, my darling," Robert finished off with the razor, wiping the remains of the cream away with a warm washcloth. "I must shave to spare my daughter's cheeks."

He placed a soft kiss to her forehead.

* * *

 **The White Room, Arnhall Castle, July 1921**

* * *

There was a knocking. Mary ignored it, emerging very slowly from her delightful dream, the most pleasant of memories, rolling over and pulling the sheets over her shoulder languidly as she did so. Her eyes remained blissfully closed, half her face buried comfortably in the crisp white fabric of one of her pillows. The knocking persisted. She hummed in annoyance, turning once again to her back and raising a palm to her forehead. She squeezed her eyes further shut before attempting to pry them open. Light streamed through her curtains, the room bathed in warm morning sun. The knocking continued still.

"Come in," she called lazily, assuming it was either Anna, coming in with some gossip from the village she thought amusing to tell, or Mrs Lynn, no doubt coming to assign Mary a few extra jobs before she rambled on about nothing in particular of note for an excessive amount of time.

Mary sighed, watching the door open and yet not quite conscious enough to internally fathom why she had not seen a figure enter. She sank back delightfully into the bed once more, settling idly down, mind wrapped in a peaceful blankness.

A small shaking woke her, a hand on her arm.

She rolled towards it and blinked herself awake.

Teddy's smiling face greeted her, eyes alight and wide awake, practically bouncing with barely contained glee.

"Miss Levinson!" He beamed, his voice the distinctive loud whisper that was often as close to hushed tones as children could manage. "Miss Levinson wake up! It's beach day!" His grin widened at this emphatic statement, as if expecting her to jump up in joy at the mere mention of this prospect. In truth, Mary had been dreading the trip, pondering excuses she could potentially swing to work around going; she didn't quite know what the day would entail—the weekends were always Mr Crawley's responsibility and although she was often a part of their games and frequented their visits to church or outings to the village, she had not spent an entire day in solely their company.

Alas, she had made Teddy a solemn promise that she would be there, and he had made stead to remind her of it every day, in every lesson she taught, for the past week.

Mary pushed herself up and leaned over to the opposite bedside table to see the clock. It read a quarter past six.

"Teddy, it's too early for the beach now," she said, yawning widely. "You have to go back to sleep, darling, or you'll be too tired to play properly when we get there."

Teddy huffed a long sigh, deflating visibly, resting his chin on her mattress.

"But I can't sleep!" He whined dramatically. "It's beach day!"

She reached out a heavy arm to stroke his hair. "The quicker you go back to sleep, the quicker beach day will come," she reasoned.

Teddy considered this deeply for a minute, turning his cheek to the mattress, making her smile at his squashed face.

"Go on Teddy," she prompted, "I'll wake you up when beach day is here."

He nodded finally, skipping over the threshold of her room and promptly down the uneven corridor.

She sighed and closed her eyes once again.

* * *

Breakfast was a quick, torrid affair, hurried along by Teddy who wolfed down his meal at high speed and then fixed his eyes on Mary and Matthew in turn, as if willing external forces to intervene and use magical powers to make them eat the food at a faster pace.

He skipped around them like an eager puppy as they got ready, badgering Matthew to let them leave a little earlier through the entire hour. And scrambling from room to room talking animatedly about the sand forts he planned to build and the sea creatures he would see.

Mary only escaped him by the occasion of going to her room to don her swim suit. It was blue, new and somewhat risqué but after careful consideration and a long time admiring herself in her vanity, as well as fervent approval from Anna, she dressed over it; choosing a long dark skirt and white blouse, picking up a book, her sunglasses, and an expensive patterned shawl before she finally moved down to the front of the house, finding Matthew packing the up the car with Teddy already in the backseat, impatient and dying to get on their way.

"Ah, Mary!" Matthew announced, "are you ready?"

She braced herself for the day. "I think so," she replied, taking in his changed appearance.

He wore white shorts and a loose shirt, undone at the cuffs and rolled over his elbows, highly informal and yet well becoming, a jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder.

"Well, I think we're just about done here too," he grinned, moving around the car and opening a door for her.

Teddy shuffled eagerly in his seat, almost bouncing up and down with pure glee Matthew swept back his hair with one hand, and let the engine roar to a start.

* * *

 **Emelle Cove, Porthcurno, Cornwall, July 1921**

* * *

A butterfly flitted in front of her, beating its wings up and down so languidly it was almost lazy. Her book lay open on her lap, the page remaining unread due to the drowsiness the heat brought. She sat against a slouched wooden deck chair in the sand, just before the line of dunes that bordered the beach, the sweltering humidity of the day causing sweat to brim in the contours of her neck. Her posture was perfect, and she leant her head back against the chair, turning her face to the sky, eyes shrouded by her sunglasses. There were no clouds in the above her besides wisps of white against the malevolent blue. The crickets and buzzards filled the thick air with low level humming- chanting the chorus of summer- and the shining sun brought out the vivid colours of coast, the cliffs, the sand and the sea.

The vast waters were open and serene, the calm waves turning gently into tide line, frothing and lapping as they slid over the sand without a single imperfection. The sight shimmered, the magnificent turquoise colour emanating from the ocean almost finding a match in Matthew's glinting eyes. Mary turned the unread page and tried to concentrate on the words.

"Miss Levinson, come and play!" Teddy called, waving her over to where he stood on the flat a few metres before Matthew. He held a bat in his hand, one that similarly resembled his own size and Mary's eyes flashed toward Mr Crawley, seeing with reservation the worn cricket ball that was clutched in his grip.

She pushed herself up from her seat, snapping her book shut with a resigned sigh and pulling her sunglasses to place aside. She curled her toes into the sand, striding confidently over to where the two were stood. Her visage demanded reverence and, despite how she knew many in her family would surely have had a stroke at the sight of her in bathing suit they would have considered so revealing, her long, bare arms and legs seemed to only heighten her own composure. Mary was not unusually vane for someone of her standing, but neither had she internalised timidity or reserve in her appearance. She was aware of her beauty, and revelled in the power it afforded her. For, where she had been admiring Matthew earlier, she could now feel his eyes on her and smirked slightly in triumph at the reversal.

She took the offered bat from Teddy, grinning as he scampered away to position himself ready to field. Matthew took his position, flexing his brow suggestively in a challenging stance.

Mary only smiled, gripping the bat with her eyes trained to his in a playful lock.

He geared up, swinging his arm in a circle and bowling a perfect strike—or at least it would have been, if the ball had not connected with Mary's bat with a tremendous whacking sound, flying high and far over all their heads.

Mary smirked, merely watching her handy work for the briefest of seconds, observing with glee, Matthew sprinting down the beach in an admirable attempt to catch it.

"Run Miss Levinson! Run! Run!" Teddy shouted, laughing gleefully.

Too caught up in watching Matthew's flexing shoulder muscles as he ran, she realised almost too late what Teddy had yelled.

She threw the bat down and ran.

"Oi, Teddy! You're supposed to be on my team!" Matthew called back, having retrieved the ball and began to turn back at incredible pace, bare feet splashing against the shallow front tide.

Teddy just giggled. "She beat you!"

Matthew arrived at his original post, chuckling and panting, ball in hand.

She met his eyes.

"So, she did," he admitted, "but it's my turn next." There was an amorous lilt hinting in his voice that caused her to raise an eyebrow.

And thus, the competition begun.

* * *

They were on even runs, drawing in every sense of the word and both rivalling equally in their active competitiveness. Matthew would bat far, earning a very many runs, only to be equalised with on Mary's next turn. Their respective bowls were becoming more and more challenging, Matthew even once throwing a googly to which Mary responded with cool neglect, hitting it square over his head like she would have any other time.

After another three bats, when he asked her for her run count, she knew she was well ahead.

"There's no way!" He declared, mouth left agog, "You, Miss Levinson, must be cheating!"

"I would do no such thing!" She said in mock outrage, sending him a warning look with an eyebrow poised and raised—a stare that could surely bring nations to their knees. "The audacity of that accusation, Mr Crawley, astounds me."

"Does it now?" He came to his post, eyeing her in careful suspicion, trying desperately too keep the smile tugging at his lips from forming over his face. "Perhaps your treachery being discovered is simply getting the better of you."

He squared up to her, grinning despite himself, their chests nearing that of an inch to each other, the lack of fixed buttons on his shirt and the low cut of her swim suit suddenly becoming more apparent. Their noses could have touched. Then he felt her breath on his skin as she spoke, her palms on his torso as she shoved him playfully away.

"Perhaps you're the cheat?" She suggested, her tone somewhat hushed and affected by their proximity.

He stepped back, scrutinising her through narrowed, smiling blue eyes.

"No," he shook his head, sweeping back a flopping lock of blonde hair with a swift hand, "It is most certainly you—you've been hoodwinking us."

"au contraire," Mary argued, "You've simply accused me of it to cover your own tracks. It's a double bluff."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that."

"Than that, Mr Crawley," she told him brazenly, "Is where you are sorely mistaken."

She took the bat in her palms and held it ready. "Now, let's finish this."

* * *

Teddy and Matthew worked together to construct an arm chair made of sand once the game was finished. Mary turned back to her book, finding herself unwittingly reading the same sentence over on more than one occasion, for the attention she bestowed on the pages themselves was minimal and preoccupied. She watched the pair of them with a wandering gaze, suddenly quite thankful that she had not committed to the beach trip during a week day, for where she had come very quickly to adore the little boy, she could not deny that she was glad of Matthew's presence, for she found Teddy's excitement at the prospect of digging a hole quite exhausting.

Nevertheless, he eagerly took up his spade and began digging a few metres away while Matthew sat back in the sand chair and dug out his newspaper, pouring over it for the first time he'd been given leave to yet that day.

For a long moment, things quieted to the most serene of scenes, the ocean gentle in its hushing waves, the coastal breeze strong and pleasant, salty sea spray close by with a distinctive scent of sand and cliffs. A little while later, a meek voice interrupted the brief interlude of rest.

"Miss Levinson?"

Mary looked up from her book, glancing around for the source of the sound and not seeing it.

"Will you help me up?"

Mary stood, dropping her book down to her seat and surveying the sand around them to find Teddy had ended up stuck in the hole of his own building. She laughed, exasperated, and kneeled by the edge to pick him up and stand him safely on the beach.

A moment later, he had moved on to another, evidently equally as thrilling, idea as a new pastime.

"I'm going to swim!" Teddy announced, bounding up and bending over to clumsily shake off the covering of sand from his legs.

Mary frowned, remembering Mrs Crawley's emphatically expressed instruction that Teddy was not strong enough to swim. She glanced in shocked questioning to Matthew, reclining in his chair made of packed sand and to her surprise she saw that he only smiled and waved the little boy off, sending him running towards the lapping tides.

He closed his eyes, lying back.

"Are you completely irresponsible?" She demanded suddenly, causing his eyes to snap open in confusion, his serenity short lived.

"What?" he asked, looking around, bewildered, as if he'd see what she meant standing next to him in the dunes.

Mary collected herself up, making off to run in the direction of the child and snatch him away from the water that could very well be the final shock to his lungs that finished him. Matthew realised her intention and made a lunge to catch her in her tracks. He took her hand, stopping her in her short.

His fingers were warm, sending a jittering tingling through the tips of hers. She felt his palm against hers, smooth skin against soft.

Her eyes snapped to where their fingers interlocked, lingering for the briefest few seconds before dropping back to their respective sides.

"Don't worry so," he reassured her, "he won't swim. He's all talk. But if we try to stop him, he'll find a way to do precisely what we haven't let him do."

"How can you be so sure?" She asked anxiously, wondering if it wouldn't be better just to be safe and stop Teddy before he went any further.

"Because I know that boy like I know my own mind," he mused, "even better, sometimes."

Mary sighed, keeping a keen eye on the child nevertheless.

"He sounds rather like I was as a child," she told him, "if I was told not to do something, it would pray on my mind until I'd done it."

He laughed, snickering gently, an amused grin on his countenance.

"Why am I not surprised?" He muttered, earning a feigned gasp of offence and a smack on the arm for his comment.

Teddy turned as he reached the water's edge, cupping pudgy hands around his mouth and calling back to Matthew.

"It won't be cold, will it Uncle Matthew?"

Matthew smiled, chuckling before shouting back.

"Of course not!"

Mary shook her head at his antics. "No," she turned to him, eyebrow raised with a sarcastic glint, "It's only the North Atlantic, why on earth would it be cold?"

"Precisely," Matthew laughed.

They both watched as Teddy ran into shallow waves. He let out a loud yell, turned and ran straight back to them.

Matthew doubled over laughing, eyes closed in mirth. Mary smiled serenely, eyes charmed with humour as her lips quirked up at the corners from the giggles held in her chest.

"You lied to me!" Teddy called, accusatory but slightly in jest, forgiveness given easily when Matthew scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder, spinning around as the child squawked with laughter.

Mary watched the pair of them with amusement, head throwing back with laughter from where she stood as Matthew sent Teddy running clumsily back toward the water, with a promise to join him in a second.

Matthew pulled out the contents of his pockets and picked up his jacket from the deck chair to replace the things in there instead before he ventured into the sea. Rummaging through them, he felt paper between his fingers and pulled it out, eyebrows furrowed before he realised what it was.

"Oh, dear me!" Matthew exclaimed, "I almost forgot, there was a letter for you this morning on the hall table—I meant to give it to you on the way. Here…"

His outstretched arm held a letter, white and crisp, the envelope expensive and stationary evidently more so. It was addressed in cursive copperplate, the name _Mary Levinson_ proof that it could only be from her dear little sister—the only one in the world, beside her granny, whose handwriting was of far more old-fashioned guild, who would write to that name.

"Thank you," she took it, noticing his polite discretion as he looked away to Teddy while she skimmed her fingers under the opening. She did so look forward to hearing of her home, from her little sister and all the happenings, every detail, no matter how mundane.

She pulled out the paper, unfolded it slowly, the pads of her thumbs searching the smooth page for grip. Looking through her sunglasses, she read unhurriedly, savouring each curl of the ink, each letter and word.

 _Darling Mary,_

 _I envy your freedom and miss you dearly. I often find myself wishing I was with you, for it sounds such a beautiful and mysterious place from all your description when you write. I know, for all your stubbornness and determination, that you're truly not admitting how much this position, this place, this family, have all come to suit you and although this illustrates you still as the sister I know, I also know that sometimes you must give a little to truly thrive._

 _As for all of us, I'm afraid I must become more melancholy. Papa grows more silent and subdued with any mention or memory of you – and going to Duneagle only brings him more sadness, for the thought of any of us reeling without you there seems naught but wrong. Mama, unfortunately, is not coping much better and all the quick practicality about her has somewhat dimmed. Edith, of course, does her level best to pretend she is wholly unaffected, but her attempts are transparent and ineffective. It is evident that Carson misses his favourite and sometimes when I see him so reminiscent of old times I have to fight with my conscience to not give him my news of you and your address, so he might write—for he would, Mary, I know he would. These differences seem so minor now I become used to them, that I feel I need to tell you not much else has changed._

 _Granny does not wish for me to go away to take the nursing course, and Mama is reluctant too. Papa has not condemned it, but I can see whenever the subject of me going away for two months is raised he looks as though he is afraid of losing another daughter for something he does not understand. I grow restless, in search of something to apply myself to without any real substance to find it. Currently I am throwing my efforts to Gwen's ambition of becoming a secretary and I am rather enjoying the sense of purpose it affords me. You do not know how lucky you are to be able to do something with your time that is truly worthy of your work._

 _I'm sure the beach won't nearly be as strenuous as you seem to be predicting, and despite your written reservations I'm sure the day with Mr Crawley and Teddy will prove outlandishly more enjoyable than you expect. It will be good for you, I'm sure._

 _Please do write back soon, I look forward to your letters with all my heart._

 _All my love,_

 _Your little sister, Sybil._

* * *

"Are you quite alright?"

Mary looked up from her letter, scanning upwards with her eyes roaming over Matthew's calves and then shorts, up and over his hips to his chest, surprisingly and distinctly bare since she'd last looked, covered in blonde hairs and outlined muscle. She observed the tiny scars over his shoulders and sides, the taught chest and strong arms, the shaped hip bone that dipped beneath his shorts. She became suddenly aware of the water droplets that fell down his skin and knew he must've gone to the sea with Teddy while she read. She brought her eyes up, seeing his tousled hair and bright eyes glancing at her with gentle concern. His shirt was slung discarded over his chair, neglected and seemingly forgotten about.

She supposed this was entirely ordinary for people not of her station, they were free to do as they pleased without constraints or rules or judgement, but was sure that if any of her family knew the proximity of herself and Mr Crawley in that moment, that they would be surely appalled.

"Quite alright, thank you," she murmured in reply, folding up her letter once again and replacing it in the envelope.

"Wonderful," he grinned, retrieving a couple of towels from the backseat of the car, "I must say though, I'm absolutely starving, would you mind if we began to tuck in to luncheon?"

"Of course not," she answered, watching Teddy run back towards them, soaked through, unkempt and beaming.

Matthew wrapped a towel around him and he shrieked with laughter as the drying quickly turned to some sort of tickle match. Mary rolled her eyes, wandering if the pair of them would ever get anything done without the badgering of the tenacious Mrs Crawley through her phone calls and letters from Manchester. She observed Teddy emerging from the towel, indicating for Matthew to lie down on the sand, and proceeding to bury him in it with an enthusiastic gusto.

Encased in a blanket of sand, he lay his head back to the ground, chuckling in mock protest as Teddy left him to fetch himself a sandwich.

"Bring me a ham one, would you Teddy?"

Teddy shook his head, rooting around for the sandwiches wrapped in brown paper. His searching was carless and unruly, rummaging through the hamper with childlike disorder. Mary stilled him after a while, retrieving what he was after and passing him a jam sandwich from the pile. She took her own food and sat back to watch the boy sit cheekily on Matthew's sand-covered chest while he ate, crumbs being strewn all over him.

"You'll have to escape," Teddy informed him, matter-of-factly.

He lost interest in lunch very quickly, as young children did, and went off prowling the beach for, in his own words, 'buried treasure'.

Mary idly poured herself a glass of lemonade, looking out across the sea to the horizon, resolutely ignoring Matthew as he tried to emerge from the considerable amount of sand that was piled over him.

"I don't suppose I could rope you into offering me a little help?" He asked, suspecting what her answer would be even in the tone he posed the query in.

She only laughed. "Now that _would_ be cheating."

"Oh, you," he sighed, knowing she now had the better hand over their earlier tiff.

As he turned, however, his eyes caught the smooth, pale skin of her outstretched legs and followed it over her calves to her thighs, admiring the somewhat unexpectedly revealing swimsuit she had chosen to don for that day. He tore his eyes away, inwardly cursing his judgement for allowing himself to indulge in such inappropriate and improper thoughts.

He heaved himself up from under the sand and brushed it off him, going over to at last retrieve his lunch.

"I'm famished, I wish I hadn't forgotten that blasted cake."

Mary chuckled, sipping the lemonade and sinking her bare feet into the warm sand.

* * *

"Teddy wants to investigate the rock pools, and I thought I'd trail behind and stretch my legs," Matthew announced, tugging his jacket back on over his shirt. "I'm also slightly wary of him getting lost because he seems to unwittingly wander into all sorts of situations all the time."

"Do you mind if I come along?" Mary asked, "I seem to have chosen a less than entertaining book and it'll be too dark to read it soon anyway."

"Please do," he nodded, "I'd be glad of the company."

She abandoned the fruitless book and met his step, walking by his side down the beach, headed between lines of dunes backed by cliffs and the steadily decreasing tide.

"Mrs Crawley wrote to me on Wednesday," She said matter-of-factly, "She was interested to know how I thought everything was going."

"Oh?" He turned, "And how do you think it is going?"

"Teddy is doing very well, he's very bright and more inclined to bring his usual enthusiasm to his lessons now I can bribe him with allowances to telephone you."

Matthew smiled, chuckling slightly, his hands pushing into the pockets of his shorts as he walked idly along.

"You've worked magic, it seems." He said.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, Mrs Crawley did her best to not allude to it, but I'm afraid the tone of her letter did come across as thoroughly surprised that I had not yet handed in my resignation."

He chuckled once again. "Given his track record, I can't say I blame her. Although I can't say you're quite what I expected to be honest."

She quirked an eyebrow. "How so?" Her tone was in warning, but her eyes were playful.

Realising he'd dropped himself in it, he became very visibly flustered.

Matthew's palm rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck, a bashful grin coming over him. "Erm… I just meant that…" he pulled himself together. "Well, when I read your application letter, I couldn't quite believe how over qualified you were, and the fact that you were so young—"

"I'm barely three years younger than you!" She objected.

"Of course, of course—what I meant was, I thought that when you arrived you'd be young, naïve and rather clueless, the level of education you received meaning you'd had very little time to gain experience of life. Then of course when you arrived I became acutely aware that none of this was the case. I had got more than I bargained for, so to speak."

He shot her an endearing smile.

She didn't know whether to feel offended or praised. Before she had left Downton, each of his descriptions would have fit her to the letter—although her old self would be thoroughly affronted by this observation—and her inexperience, youth and naivety had led her to being forced to leave her home.

Part of her couldn't help but feel pleased at his words, pleased that she'd proved a challenge to him, pleased that she'd showed him he'd met his match in her.

She smiled back, tucking her loose hair behind her ear as a cool breeze blew it past her face.

She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, holding the fabric at the middle with a bent bare arm. She wasn't cold as such, but coming with the slow descent of the sun she felt it sensible to cover herself—the ways of old very deeply entrenched in her mindset. They continued to walk, both their sets of eyes trained on the figure of the small boy before them—arms outstretched like a plane, padding along the tide line, occasionally bending to inspect a washed-up shell or sea creature. She turned sharply to glance up at him, his hair thoroughly dishevelled by coastal wind, eyes far away and lips turned into a gentle smile.

Then, a sharp coughing erupted from the child in front of them and she started towards him, anxious and alert.

Matthew, knowing better, caught her hand again before she could make a move.

"Let him work through it on his own," he told her gently, "Only intervene if it gets worse. It'll be better for him in the long run if he can manage things."

Her eyes bore into his, clouding with trepidation before nodding, accepting his words for the logic they proved.

Sure enough, Teddy breathed evenly once again and after a minute's pause, he continued merrily on.

"What exactly is wrong with his lungs?" She asked, turning back ahead to the child.

"To tell the truth, I don't think there's a name for what he has." Matthew replied. "He was born with it—or at least to my knowledge he was. He wasn't even a year old when he came to my care and I noticed it not long after. The medicine he takes clears his throat of obstruction that might have developed during the day or after lying down at night because his breathing tubes seem to be highly sensitive and too small to allow enough air in."

She nodded as he spoke, taking in the information.

"Then he has crises sometimes, if something has exerted him or shocked his chest, and has emergency injections that mainly just relax his muscles, so he can allow himself to pace his breaths." Matthew sighed deeply, gaze flitting to his feet, then to her.

"But it surely won't affect him forever?"

He shrugged, "My mother thinks it may relieve as he gets older, but so little is known about it she can't be sure. I hate it, I really hate it and I often wonder if there's something more I could do."

"I suppose it must be another reason he can't come to live with you in Manchester— the city would cause him no end of problems."

"Don't I know it," he sighed, huffing a long breath.

He turned to her, devising a serene smile to throw the torrid subject from their minds.

"You're shivering," his brow creased, "here, take my jacket." He shrugged the garment off, revealing a creased and half undone shirt that caught the wind and billowed in it, his appearance becoming steadily more dishevelled.

"Oh, no I shouldn't," she objected even as he placed it over her shoulders and wasn't entirely sure why she did so even then. This was a different world to the one she was used to inhabiting; here she could take a man's coat without scrutiny or protest. Her father would not remark on the expectance of such a gesture and her granny would not expect a proposal to follow it. This version of life was estranged and entirely polar to that she had lived before, yet not abhorrently so.

"Nonsense," he dismissed. "the wind will only feel stronger once we begin the drive back, and even the hottest of English summers are still known to have colder nights. Especially on the coast."

She thanked him with a nod. This, though would have been considered less than effusive by any other, was a marker for Mary—and Matthew understood the simple gratitude and meaning behind it without needing to interpret it through strenuous use of word. She was reserved in her outward display of feeling, but did not harbour lack of it on the inside—it was quite the opposite, in fact. For what she did not say, spoke volumes to him.

"I'll pack up the things," he motioned to the bat and ball, the picnic blanket, deck chairs and hamper. "Would you begin to prize Teddy from his rock pools to get in the car?"

"Of course," she agreed.

And they took opposite directions.

* * *

"Teddy," Mary said, approaching the boy from behind where he knelt on the wet sand, watching in rapt fascination as the rock pool creatures meandered sluggishly around their small habitat. "It's time to go," she added.

"Look!" He waved her over, seeming having taken no notice of her speech and grinned. "It's an anem… anem… anemonon…" he struggled for the word.

"Anemone?" Mary tried.

"Yes!" Teddy pointed with one hand, taking Mary's in the other to guide her to the subject of his interest.

"So it is," Mary observed.

"I found shells!" With the statement, he pulled an abundance of them from his pocket and clutched them in a grubby palm. He searched around in his other pocket and brought out a particularly pretty looking stone, purple tinged and sparkling. "And I found this for you!" He grinned, passing her the stone. "It shines," he added.

"So it does," Mary nodded, taking the object in her own delicate hand, feeling oddly touched at the sentiment. "Thank you, darling," she murmured, stowing it safely in her pocket and kissing his head gently. "Shall we help your Uncle Matthew pack up the car?"

He nodded, stuffing his things back into his pocket and taking her hand, failing to stifle a yawn as they walked down the beach.

* * *

He was asleep before Matthew had even started the car, wrapped contentedly in the picnic blanket on the backseat, leaning floppily against the hamper with his eyes drooped shut and hair shoddy and filled with sand.

The drive was tranquil calm, the sun having set just as they joined the road that took them up through winding lanes, following to the top of the cliffs and steadily darkening fields, a chilling but not wholly unwelcome wind accompanying the roar of the engine, whipping their hair behind them and drawing peaceful smiles on their faces.

Mary's arms tucked his jacket more securely around her shoulders, glancing to her right to watch Matthew's features focussed on the barely lit road before him. His bedraggled blonde locks were strewn in all directions, blue eyes no less bright despite the blissfully tired hue that graced them. He seemed oblivious to her staring, too much in concentration, so she did not turn away until the journey was at a near end and the crunching of gravel beneath tires alerted her to their proximity to the house.

Matthew drew up into what ought to have been the chauffer's garage and climbed out to open Mary's door for her. It was pitch dark by that time, a still summer's night illuminated only by a somewhat obscured quarter moon and the dim lighting of the little off-room. The small entrance hall of one of the back doors was still familiarly lit and it allowed Mary to find her bearings of the still foreign layout of the place. She moved to the backseat, where Teddy lay in deep slumber, blissfully oblivious to any world other than that which dreams were made of.

"It's alright," Matthew indicated, "I'll get him, you head on inside. The rest can be left to the morning."

She nodded, retreating to allow him to bend over the car and in for the bundle of blanket and small boy.

"Come on, Ted," Matthew murmured, removing Teddy's glasses and placing them in his pocket, "up we get."

He picked him up and into his arms, his eyes flickering open in the brief elusive void between wake and slumber, "what's happening?" asked the child, blinking hard and yawning, struggling to stay roused for longer than mere seconds.

"It's alright, go back to sleep," Matthew revised, deciding he could wait to the morning to bathe the child and rid him of the remnants of sand and sea that still lay, having crept to his hair and skin, between his little toes and underneath his nails. Teddy sank easily into the warmth and familiarity of Matthew's embrace, for he was so tired, so exhausted from all the excitement the day had entailed, that he did not even stir as he was changed to pyjamas and only came just conscious enough to take his medicine before he nodded off once again, this time receiving a kiss on the forehead from Matthew and Mary before he was tucked in, deaf to the good nights they uttered before shutting his bedroom door softly behind them.

"Thank you for agreeing to come today," Matthew said sincerely, facing her in the hallway, his smile tired but no less genuine. "It meant the world to us— Teddy— it really did."

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," she replied, her voice a mere whisper.

They uttered hushed good nights and went their separate ways, each wandering down the corridor in direction of their respective rooms, but as Mary reached hers, she turned.

"Oh, Matthew?"

He looked back.

"If you ever need beating in a game of cricket again, you know where to find me."

The last thing she heard before she stepped over the threshold was his warm and gentle laughter at the other end of the wing.

* * *

 _A/N - Sorry its been a while, this chapter proved far more difficult to write than I thought it would be and even now I'm not really too pleased with it, but it had to go up some time and I haven't updated in such a long time that I felt I owed it. I hope you all liked it even if it was a bit patchy in places and not a lot really happened. It was meant to establish the start of Mary and Matthew's strange sort of relationship (which I hope at least I managed to demonstrate) and how it will progress from there. Please do review as reading them really makes my day! Thanks for reading :)_


	4. Chapter 4

**The main drawing room, Arnhall Castle, November, 1918**

* * *

It was like a trance, going through the old house with his bags in hand, still wearing army drab, a clean uniform and a large green trench coat that hung off his tall and determinably thinner frame. He was almost certain his mother would remark upon that the moment she saw him—her cherubic little child had gone to war and returned a man, losing his innocence and many precious years of youth in the process. He set his bags down by the entrance of the large drawing room, surveying the house he'd always known as his cousin's. It had been his for some six months, after Lawrence had died and before his son was born, and Matthew had been gladdened by the birth of his late cousin's child, feeling no account for any kind of jealously or bitterness at being passed over for another heir, instead harbouring a secret joy for a little brightness that the boy had afforded their lives.

Of course, Teddy would be near to a year older than he'd been when Matthew had first met him, no longer a new-born able to be held in his two hands.

He vaguely wondered why Catherine had allowed the room to fall to emptiness, for it looked as if the house had been shut up. What furniture was left had been covered with large white throws, and some had even been boxed up and stacked against the walls. He turned to take it all in, puzzled as to why his mother had written for him to return to here rather than home. Arnhall had always been a place at a distance to him—owned by his mother's father, then his mother's brother, then Lawrence and now a child too young to pronounce its name—it had been world that was close to his, but another world all the same. Then the war had come, and he had had no world left where he truly belonged. He'd seen friend after friend die in the blink of an eye, seen strangers perish and family take their last breaths.

He shook it all from his mind, concentrating on the here and now. He was back. The war was over.

His mother would probably be upstairs somewhere, talking with Catherine or playing with Teddy, for she so loved her infrequent visits to Cornwall and chances to do so were few and far between.

Then, out of the corner of his eye from where he stood in the centre of the large room, he caught sight of something out of place.

Set straight on the mantelpiece above a cold fireplace, was a letter, with one jagged word emblazoned in hand writing that was half foreign to him, yet half familiar. In black ink and expensive pen, in the very centre of the envelope, he read his own name.

 _Matthew._

He took it into his trembling palms, nervous to find what awaited him inside, and split it open with a careful thumb under the back rim.

His fingers removed and unfolded the paper, his eyes only just focussing enough to read.

 _To my dearest cousin,_

 _Should this letter fall into your hands I must first let it be known how glad I am that you returned from home from the war, safe and cherished. It gladdens me very much to think of you returning home in the knowledge that this war is behind you, that there will be no return to the front, and the future before you will no longer clouded with such unspeakable horrors. Just the thought of your homecoming is enough to lighten my spirits and I must hope against hope that you'll return without scathe or scratch. However, the second condition on you receiving these words is that I have succumbed to my illness and passed away, leaving my home without mistress and my son without a mother. I am confident that, wherever I go next, I shall thrive as much as I have here, so you mustn't feel sorry or worry, dearest Matthew, for you deserve all the happiness in the world for all you've done and all you've gone through, and although it seems it is your prerogative to fear what has become of us all, know that we are all together and at rest._

 _What I now must ask comes at great cost to you, and I know it is something you will have never envisioned taking on, or wished for, and, for that, I am truly sorry, but I must ask the greatest favour imaginable from you. I must implore you to take care of my son. You and Isobel are all the family he has left and yet with all her causes taking her over the globe I know it would be impossible for her take on, whereas what you could provide for him is all I could ever want for my child. I wish for him to grow up in the care of someone he can love that might love him in return, and as lacking in family as I am, I must beseech you to take him on. He has enough money to pay his way, and the estate should be yours to sell, the fortune to do with as you wish, but he needs a family, a parent, and I know there is no one more kind or more loving than you, no one that could raise him as well as you could, no one better that can defend the downtrodden._

 _He needs you, and, if I'm honest, I think you need him too._

 _Please look after my son._

 _All my love forever,_

 _Catherine._

Matthew could barely breathe. Chest constricting and lungs devoid of all air, he ripped his eyes from the letter and looked out over the gardens from the large window. Unbeknownst to him, for weeks now, Teddy had been left an orphan.

* * *

 **The Upstairs Library, Arnhall Castle, September 1921**

* * *

"What's that you're singing?"

Matthew jumped, turning sharpish in shock. He had been apparently unaware of her presence behind him, too wrapped up in perusing through his beloved books to have heard the shuffling of the rug as she walked or the clack of her shoes on the floorboards.

She made only futile attempts to suppress her smirk as Matthew, turning a bashful shade of pink with his ears burning, tripped backwards in surprise and ended up with his back colliding with the bookshelf.

"Oh – its uh… nothing really. I'm just…"

She shook her head slightly, one eyebrow raised. "You were singing," she clarified, smiling at his awkwardness.

"Well…" he searched for an appropriate explanation that wouldn't make him seem like a fool. He'd done it now; showed himself up as the bumbling idiot he was by reviving his old war songs while he sorted through his books, singing without thought, thinking he was alone. "It lightens the mood a bit." He offered, giving a small shrug of his shoulders in a vain attempt to downplay his embarrassment.

"I suppose," she mused, nonchalant, moving brusquely to a near shelf and scanning her eyes along the spines of old volumes, kept pristine and well nurtured as if they were his best loved possessions. Her fingers sifted across them, perusing through titles and authors alike, admiring the splendid collection as she moved from shelf to shelf, wandering up the stairs to the level raised above the room and finding old tales written in languages she could only guess at. Mary had been tutored mercilessly in a number of languages she'd never really ever had cause to use. Latin came in handy from time to time—the odd phrase, saying or word a deriving from something she could comprehend—and French she used in lessons with Teddy, trying desperately to compel him to understand in the same fashion she knew her own governess had struggled with to do so with her. She had used her German once, maybe twice, but had never found reason to speak a word of Russian and had so far found the countless lessons somewhat useless. It was a shame really, when she thought back to it. She would have liked to have put it to some use—perhaps in way of travelling to Moscow for the ballet or something else of the like. Such thoughts seemed strange now—originating from a different ilk of life, one that was not her own any longer.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?"

Mary glanced down over the bannister to where Matthew stood on the floor below, looking up at her as she browsed.

"Not in particular, no," she replied. "just something of interest to replace the last book I was reading."

"Ah yes," he nodded in understanding. "You mentioned it was disappointing."

She had, in fact, explained in great detail over breakfast near a week ago how thoroughly displeased, or moreover infuriated, she had been with the—in her own words—whimsical drip of a protagonist she'd been reading of. He'd laughed at her disgruntled description, but it hadn't left his head for a long while afterwards.

"Which reminds me—actually," he murmured, "I hope you don't mind, but I… well I got you…" he moved over to the window, beside which he had a large desk that looked over the garden, and took a parcel from a middle drawer, wrapped in smooth brown paper and neatly tied string.

He jogged up the stairs to meet her where she stood.

"I got you a few books on my way from work the other day, just—you know—in case you were…" he bumbled a little awkwardly, "still looking for something to read," he finished with a grin.

Mary was a little taken a back, the pure thoughtfulness of his gift rendering her lacking in speech for a moment.

"Mr Crawley… I…"

He chuckled, rolling his eyes and bowing his head, then looking up with a blue-eyed stare.

"It's Matthew, please."

"You're not very fastidious about doing things properly, are you?" she noted.

"Less than you might think," he smiled. "Here, take them. I think you'll like them—not a whimsical drip of a protagonist in sight I don't think."

She quirked an eyebrow.

"Will you make it a habit to quote my own words back to me?"

"Maybe," he said, "you seem to have a lot of things to say."

"You should learn to pay no attention to things I say. I know I don't."

They seemed to have moved unwittingly close.

He could feel her breath on his cheek.

"Thank you, Matthew," she said earnestly, taking the offered parcel into careful arms. "Very much."

"It's nothing," he blew it off with a grin and a glint in his eye.

"It's not nothing," she said quietly, watching him as he turned back to his books. "Not at all."

* * *

 **Carraway Lane, Emelle Cliffs, Cornwall, September 1921**

* * *

Mary laid a hand over her hat, keeping it from blowing off in the strong winds whipping up from over the vast Atlantic. It was a bright day, the sun beaming down with a jovial light that seemed to give a little more warmth than expected as the seasons shifted through to slightly colder, wilder and more colourful introspections. The road lay blanketed with leaves blushed bright as if she walked through a painting, the sky above a pale lucid blue, the air thin and brisk but lacking in any bitter signs of an oncoming winter.

Teddy soared like a plane before her, arms outstretched to either side of his body, accompanying his imaginings with appropriate sound effects, the imaginative ruse only ceasing when he turned around to check she was still following close by, or to come bounding back up to her, brandishing a handful of conkers proudly in a small palm as if they were his greatest treasures.

She thought it, on the most part, amusing, but had to exercise a little authority now and then to stop him leaping into puddles or scrambling over a Cornish hedge, lest he make a mess of his clothes. As they neared the village, however, she had to appeal to draw him back to her, so she might take his hand to keep him close by, for Teddy was all to easily distracted by the simplest of musings and Mary did not want a missing young boy on her conscience. She'd almost driven herself to complete panic during one of their outings a few weeks prior, when she'd turned around in the post office and he'd disappeared, only to find out a quarter hour later that he'd, without questioning, followed a dog into a nearby field to where it's owner was waiting. She'd been very fortunate indeed to find that said owner had happened to have been Hugo Maudsley, a good friend of Matthew's she'd met once or twice, who'd carried Teddy on his shoulders back to the village to find her. But thankfully she'd learnt to keep a sterner eye on the boy since the excursion because, although Teddy meant no harm or disarray, he seemed to have a habit of wandering off towards anything that caught his eye.

"Come along, Teddy." Mary ushered, making her way to the post office. "If you're good, once we're done, I'll take you to the sweet shop."

She'd never found bribery much of an effective stratagem until she came to find a small boy in her charge.

Teddy practically rocketed, physically leaping up for joy in place of his next step, keeping his grip on her hand firm as he grinned up at her. "Mrs Jenkins said she'd save me a sugar mice and a liquorice wand for the next time I come."

Mrs Jenkins was the woman who ran the sweet shop. She was an old lady and a little bit of a busybody – she certainly told Mary more than her fair share of the village gossip whenever they ventured in – but she was very kind and clearly doted on Teddy, for she had no qualms when he sat on the counter while she weighed out pear drops in little paper bags, or when he pressed his nose up to all the colossal glass jars filled with bonbons and sherbet lemons.

"It's a sugar mouse, Teddy." Mary corrected gently. "When you're talking about one, is a mouse, when there's more than one mouse, they're called mice."

"Oh," he said, before his mind quickly wandered to what he considered were higher things. "Do you think there'll be any pear drops?" He mused wistfully.

"I shouldn't worry about that, I'm sure they'll be plenty of sweets left for you."

"What're we going to do in the post office?" He asked.

"We're going to post your letter to Aunt Isobel and collect any letters that might've come for Uncle Matthew, then I'm going to buy some stamps."

"And then sweet shop!" Teddy declared with a wide smile.

"Yes," Mary nodded, "And then the sweet shop."

"What about Barley sugars twists?" Teddy mused. "Or gobstoppers!"

Mary simply laughed, bringing the little boy up and into her arms as she pushed through the door of the post office.

"Ah Miss Levinson how lovely to see you again—I've a letter here for you, and another two for Mr Crawley."

Mary smiled, putting Teddy down so he sat happily on the counter, grinning widely as Mrs Braithwaite cooed at him while she passed the letters to the other woman.

Mrs Braithwaite was a rather dear old lady, who adored Teddy—much as everyone in the village seemed to —with white hair pulled into a seemingly impossibly tight bun at the back of her head, a tall, slender, aged frame and small, half-moon spectacles that sat at the bridge of her thin nose.

"Thank you very much." She cast a thumb over her letter, noting the handwriting of the address. "I was wondering—could I buy some stamps as well today?"

"Of course, my dear," the woman smiled, "First Class?"

"Yes, please Mrs Braithwaite. Teddy has a very important letter for his Aunt Isobel."

"Oh, how lovely, I expect you're telling her all about the fair."

Teddy nodded emphatically. "And the toffee apple I won!"

Mary had come to quickly learn that Teddy had a one-track mind where sweets and the like were concerned.

"What about you, dear?" Mrs Braithwaite inquired, looking to Mary with a kindly expression. "You're a youngster—surely you'll be going to the end of fair dance I expect?"

Mary pursed her lips, forcibly hiding her intrigued grin from the keen eye of the woman. She had a feeling Mrs Braithwaite, like Mrs Jenkins, always kept an ear pricked up for gossip.

"We'll see," she said guardedly, paying for the stamps and holding one out so Teddy could eagerly plaster it to his letter, his clumsy aim leaving it at a rather jaunty angle. Mary fleetingly thought with a smile that Isobel would be left in very little doubt as to who the letter was from on receiving it.

"Good morning Mrs Braithwaite, have a lovely day."

"Goodbye!" Teddy waved with a cheery smile as Mary brought him down from the counter and took his hand once again, the letters carefully stored in her coat pocket.

The bell jangled merrily as they exited the shop and Teddy skipped by her side holding onto his little hat with a free hand to make sure it did not fall off as he bounded along. The village was decently busy; mothers pushed their prams and called, exasperated, after straying children. The residents went about their businesses with fresh cheer in their countenance, however mundane their weekly tasks might have been.

"Can we go to the park?" The boy inquired eagerly, looking up at her with wide and pleading eyes.

Mary thought his sweet look endearing, but did her best not to make her sentiments obvious, as it would not do well for him to know he had the capabilities to melt even the hardest of hearts.

"We can go for a little while, but then we must get on with our errands afterwards," she said evenly, crossing to the opposite path and bringing Teddy through the gate to a rather beautiful little field of sparse trees and colourful flower beds.

"You mustn't go too high up in the trees, remember," Mary warned. "Be careful. We don't want to hurt ourselves, do we?"

Teddy shook his head solemnly.

"Alright then, off you go."

He ran off on earnest little legs, carrying him through the shrubberies and out of sight.

Mary rolled her eyes a little at the unbridled enthusiasm of the child, finding his keen and fervent nature as yet unparalleled. She only wished he brought such ardent vigour with him to his lessons. She took a seat on a bench, bringing out the letter addressed with her name, and slipping the paper from its envelope.

 _Dearest Mary,_

 _I cannot tell you how much I envy you. Happiness seems simple when you write, as if the unanimous contentedness that surrounds you as somehow rubbed off to your show of a stern exterior. Teddy sounds such a darling; his games, phrases and little quirks are described so vividly in your letters that I almost find myself knowing the child like he were family. However, Mr Crawley remains, to me, more ambiguous each time he is mentioned; you have never put his looks to words as you have with others, and yet his ways, or at least how you perceive them, show him to be strangely dissimilar to any man I'm sure I've ever come across. He seems kind, polite, unusual and yet strangely captivating. Some of the stories you've relayed had me laughing out loud as I read them, so certainly he does not lack humour or interest, but part of what you see shows he is somewhat lonely or, at least, internally inclined. For all Mr Crawley inquires of your family, he seems not to speak of his own. For all he talks of literature or choice trivialities with you, it makes me wonder why he appears to possess experience beyond his years, especially for a man so young. But then I suppose the war has made wretched our generation, and many of us will never see youth the same again. And, despite all this I have rambled of, you all seem so inherently happy._

 _I beg of you to let me visit—I will turn eighteen before the year is out and after which, perhaps a little way into the new year, Papa has promised to allow me to embark to Oxford for a few weeks on a nursing course. If you would permit it, I would be able to tell Mama the course was a little longer than in truth, then use the extra time to travel down to Porthcurno Village to see you. It would feel like a dream to see you again after so long, for, although we all of course miss you dearly, and even Edith misses the presence of a sparring partner, I feel your absence as acutely as if it were my own._

 _Please, please say you will let me come._

 _Your loving sister,_

 _Sybil._

She read and re-read the letter, twice, three times, again and again until she could near recite the words for herself. She could not indulge her sister in this notion of a visit, she knew that. The risk it entailed was too great to bear thinking—one slip about her name, about Downton, about any intricacy of her previous ilk of life would surely result in tumult and upheaval. But she longed to see her little sister again. And Sybil was very discreet and trustworthy when it came to secrets of any kind, she could be relied upon, Mary was sure of that. But the idea still stirred a little unease in her—the introduction of one life to another seemed like a balancing act that was tiring and tricky enough as it was when both versions were separated by estrangement and distance. She'd have to write back and put her off, it was the only logical solution, however much she didn't want to do so.

She was yanked sharply back to reality by the sound of a loud and abrupt cry. Mary stood, folding the letter carefully and storing it safely away in her pocket once more, following swiftly after the sound through the flower beds until she was met with a rather pitiful sight of Teddy slumped on the grass, red faced and tearful, clearly having fallen during one of his overzealous fictitious games.

"Oh darling," Mary sighed, coming towards him with a mingled look of 'I told you so' drawn out with a sympathetic pout. "What've you done?"

The child whimpered, wiping snot across his arm, causing Mary to wince in thinly veiled disgust. She came to him and brought the boy into her arms despite it, throwing away her qualms to seat him atop a close-by bench and kneel before him, taking his hat and bringing away his glasses then retrieving a handkerchief to wipe his face.

Teddy gestured to an ugly stain on his long socks, his bottom lip still quivering from the pain of it. Mary tutted at him, carefully reaching forward to roll down his sock and survey the injury. It wasn't so bad—she'd had worse from her own misadventures as a child—but it was bleeding fairly profusely and would need to be cleaned and dressed.

"It's just a graze," she noted clearly, "you're alright."

He still frowned, eyes remaining pitifully red.

"Ho ho!" A decorous and rather booming voice called out from behind Mary and she rolled her eyes a little at the grandeur of the inflection. "What's going on here?"

Mary turned her head, standing upright as she did so with a little resignation in her stature—it seemed that the man in question—Mr James Astley—happened to come across her and Teddy on their outings rather frequently.

"Teddy, my boy! Chin up, what've you done to your knee?"

James had a rather cacophonous tenor that was caught and carried easily through the air. He came striding up, his physique somewhat lively nearing boisterous, flashing a deliberately charming smile towards Mary as he took Teddy into a hold swiftly upwards.

James had an infamous reputation in the village. He was rather a cad.

"Good afternoon," Mary said a little stiffly, smiling all the same.

"Ah, good afternoon Miss Levinson. How wonderful it is to see you both out on such a fine day!"

Mary pursed her lips, inwardly sighing at the overzealous greeting.

She'd met his like before.

"And may I say the same to you," she managed, masking her amusement at his attempts to charm her. "But I'm afraid I must get Teddy home to clean and dress his knee."

She offered her arms out for the boy, who fiddled mindlessly with James's hat, pinching the brim between his fingers with a fixated stare.

"Well, you must come back to the Merchant's Arms with me—Miss Layton was a nurse during the war and I'm sure she can patch him up to spare you the journey back beforehand."

Mary quirked an eyebrow, doing her best to suspend all disbelief on the subject of James's intentions.

Teddy's face was still blotchy from tears and it broke Mary's attempted resolve to refute the offer.

"Very well," she resigned, revising to keep a firm temper for the duration of James's company. "Thank you for the offer, it's so kind of you." She said it with conviction, despite her belief of his ulterior motives.

James passed Teddy over and the small boy gripped around Mary's neck, his cheek pressing to her shoulder, grateful for the familiarity of her scent and grip. Mary tried to forget about the snot and saliva that had been wiped on the child's shirt.

Thinking for a minute, Mary thought perhaps she could take advantage of James's interest in her.

"Would you mind awfully if I asked you to take Teddy and I to the sweet shop?" She gave her most beguiling smile to try to swing the request, but she needn't have bothered for James was already wholeheartedly on board with her every whim, his hopes of charming her admirable, if unfortunately, futile.

* * *

 **The Orchard, Arnhall Castle, September 1921**

* * *

Mary couldn't shake away the possibility brought by Sybil's last letter. She'd mused over it silently for days throughout the week, barely entertaining the prospect of writing back with a decision either way, for each consequence was fraught with difficulty that seemed, to her at least, equally impossible to face.

Matthew had even inquired about her silence over luncheon, to which she had merely put down to abstract thought and he had obligingly let that be the end of it, but she couldn't put her mind to rest on the matter so easily. She wanted, more than anything, to see Sybil once again for it would give her purchase to hear of her family, of her home, and perhaps not feel so lonesome for a little while. But what she risked was great, and there her dilemma was born.

It was nearing sunset, but the sky had not given way just yet. It was warm out, the heated rays of golden evening sun falling over her the orchard as if it were still the height of summer. Pollen remained steady in the air, the mellow chirping of lazy birds and buzzing of crickets from adjacent shrubberies brought about a hazy feeling of relaxation.

Footsteps came up behind her, light thumping in the grass that caused her to turn, smiling at the familiar view of a blue-eyed grin as Matthew moved to tip his hat in greeting.

"I wondered if I'd find you here," he announced, falling into step comfortably beside her.

"Oh?"

"it's an easy place to be alone with one's thoughts."

"It is," she nodded, looking off vaguely into the far distance of fields made of green and gold.

Around where they walked grew large and sumptuous apple trees, their fruit bearing in their prime, ready to be picked when Mr Skelper could find the time and volunteers to do so. Mary felt sure it would be a familial occasion— Matthew and Teddy were the very type to muck in and make a day of it, finding their own amusement with games of hide and seek amongst the branches and wheelbarrow rides between pickings.

"There must be so much history here," She mused, for she knew the like—the intricacies of the past that such estates became the lifeblood of. All the people that had passed through, all the lives that had been created, started, lived and even come to an end within the walls of such a wise old building. Not to mention the scandal, the fable-like tales of tragedy and loss and also great love and happiness.

"It's Elizabethan," Matthew replied, glancing wistfully about the gardens as they walked. "Well," he corrected, "The original building foundation was a royal manor, going way back to the days of the Saxon kings, starting off, I think, with Aethelred the Unready. It was passed down through various royalty until a man named Henry Turnbull won the entire estate off Edward of Woodstock in 1349 in a game of cards. Henry entered the bet to release the woman he loved from her forced engagement to the Black Prince, as he was then known, and unwittingly won an estate in the process." Matthew recalled the history of Arnhall as easily as if he were reading a passage from a well-loved novel. "Henry had only had one surviving child—a son, William, who planted the orchard for his little sister Anne who died when she was eight years old."

"You know a great deal about the place." She observed, for it was rare to find someone so caring as she was in the history of their home.

"It's my mother's family history really. Her brother was Teddy's grandfather, you see. Really, he should call me cousin Matthew—but Uncle seemed more fitting when he came to my care."

"From the way you two get up to so much mischief, brother would seem more appropriate," Mary teased, her look purely and deliberately coy.

Matthew chuckled. "I shall take that comment as a compliment," he decided.

She smiled indulgently toward the horizon.

"Oh!" He announced suddenly. "I almost forgot! I came out after you with an invitation and lost the thought in conversation." He stopped before her, a bright and excited glint in his eyes. "I'm sure you've heard of the dance at the end of the fair—well Mrs Braithwaite was more than happy to keep Teddy in check for the night and I wondered if you'd like to come. I'm walking down with Anna and a few others in a little while—and I know it'd be a joy to everyone if you were to join us."

"I'm afraid I've only heard the more infamous tales of this particular dance."

His smile faltered a little, and it did not go unnoticed by her.

"Please?" He tried. "What if I were to promise you you'd enjoy yourself?"

"I still wouldn't be entirely convinced," she said a little warily. Such abandonment of structure and caution had never been an enticing prospect, and yet she saw an appeal in accompanying him to the fair. An appeal she couldn't quite place. "And I would advise you to not make promises you cannot keep," she finished, albeit with a little intended charm in her tone.

He moved a little closer, a dawning smirk on his handsome features.

"And what if I were sure I could?"

"Then you must be sure to wager it, and be ready for the consequences should you prove to be wrong."

* * *

 **Porthcurno Village, Emelle Cliffs, Cornwall, September 1921**

* * *

Unaccustomed to such events and feeling a little out of place, Mary sat out by Anna's side for the first few dances—the pair of them conspiring and giggling together in joyous camaraderie until Anna was whisked away by a hopeful young man and Mary waved her off into the dance, still hanging back despite the copious attempts to drag her into the fray.

She occupied herself by thinking wistfully of Sybil's letter once again, wondering how she should reply as she idly sat on the side of the crowd.

Matthew came out barely a minute since Anna's departure and Mary found herself captured as she watched his approach. His face was flushed, and his perpetually unruly hair was more rucked up than ever. His shirt had become unbuttoned a little at the top, the ends untucked from his trousers, sleeves rolled up to over his elbows leaving the blonde hairs on his arms visible to her scrutinising, keen gaze.

"Can I get you a drink?" He asked, a wide grin stretching cheek to cheek, eyes vigorous and bright, voice just the tiniest bit breathless from the gallop. His chest still rose and fell at heightened rates, beating heart pumping blood rhythmically through his veins, pulse elevated by the mere vigour of the dance.

"Oh, I couldn't," she declined, "I don't drink beer."

Matthew laughed. "Why is that not a surprise?" he exclaimed, dropping down to the bench beside her with a wide and knowing smile.

She drew back, arching an eyebrow at his bold but well-placed assumption. "And what do you mean by that?"

He chucked, his shoulder knocking hers, the dense crowd bringing their proximity close and nearly stifling. The lamps that hung from overarching branches shed golden heated light on them all, the dancers radiated body heat from every inch, laughing faces and busing masses, loud music and overflowing drinks bringing a merry and jovial atmosphere across the whole brigade.

"Only that you don't quite strike me as a beer girl."

Despite how he leant toward her to say it, his voice was elevated to be audible over the roaring crowds and striking band and even while feeling his nose brush barely against her cheek, it was still a strain to decipher his words, so lost were they in the tumult of sound.

Mary only gave a cool and unaffected smirk of innocence, merely looking at him with challenging eyes.

"I'll have you know, I could drink every one of you here under the table, and still be able to walk the line."

He never was one to back down from a challenge.

"Is that so?" He questioned, grinning in earnest. "Well, in that case, I shall fetch us both a drink and then you must dance with me."

"Must I now? There was I under the impression you must gain my approval in order to dance with me."

He got up, still smiling a handsome smile, standing before her and leaning forward to speak, lips to ear so he would be heard.

"But I've already gained it."

With that, he withdrew, making his way slowly through the bustles of people and out of sight to where she remained sat.

There was something wildly enticing in the way his suave comments were threaded and executed. His said them with temperament and meaning, the style coquettish and yet bearing no hint of unwanted vulgarity or expected repayment. She'd match him, flirt in return, and it would feel right, natural and yet also thoroughly thrilling all at once. He was attractive in both stance and manner, and she'd acknowledged this increasingly since she'd known him. He was polite, kind and encompassing of all virtues that made a fine and accommodating man, but also stubborn, quick witted and amusing in harmless well-put folly. Perhaps she would dance with him. The prospect of such a close, unruly and fast paced dance was one she had barely been afforded to face before and made her a little anxious, so out of her zone of comfort as it was, but still a reckless, soulful shade of her almost demanded she gave in, accepting the wonderous feeling of him taking her into his arms, held and spun close against his chest, able to feel each breath and heartbeat over all the crowd and all the music.

He came pushing back through, a large tankard of beer practically overflowing held in each hand.

"What do I owe you?" Mary asked, accepting the professed tankard into one hand, taking a sip of foam and wrinkling her nose at the foreign taste. Beer had of course never been on the table at Downton Abbey, her father had never made a point of bringing the family to the pub and if he ever had possessed occasion to do so, his daughters had never been part of the brigade bought along—as young as they were. No, she had never tasted it before, and frankly was not in much of a hurry to do so again.

He looked at her in question, an inquiring furrow of his brow.

"… for the drink," she clarified.

"Ah…" Matthew declared, taking a hearty gulp of his drink and placing the tankard down to one side. "For that, I shall accept the payment of the next dance."

Mary sighed, sipping the beer quickly, deliberately not looking at him, keeping her eyes trained straight ahead as she quirked an eyebrow with the merest inflection of chastising affection.

* * *

She found herself brought into the midst of it all mere moments later—her drink lay empty beside his forgotten waistcoat, jacket and tie—and she was perhaps more than a little lightheaded from the atmosphere alone, but it was excitement she found in the confines of the crowd. It was claustrophobic, hectic, busy with lights and sounds and laughter and people. The music struck up and she was pulled to Matthew's chest in a dizzying haze, both of them knowing the movements as instinct, reeling and spinning with a clumsy and vigorous beauty. She was lifted and twirled, struck by the feeling of his hand bare clutching her own gloveless fingers.

The adrenaline through her veins was paramount, it seemed, to anything else. His arms could be felt around her on occasion and the loss of the feeling was acute with every swap of partners until they were returned to each other. Both hearts beat quick and erratic with the exercise and, if it weren't for the great strength of the fiddle and the rest of the band, he felt sure they would have both heard the other's fast ins and outs of breath.

The dance came to a close with a great groan and encoring cheer from everyone until the band started another reel and her hand was in his once more.

* * *

 _A/N: I am so sorry this took me so long to update and I really hope it wasn't a disappointment. Please tell me what you think and any thoughts you might have, reviews are always greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**The Orchard, Arnhall Castle. August, 1921.**

* * *

"Teddy what on earth, may I ask, are you doing?"

Teddy slashed at the bushes with his little wooden sword, bounding on ahead and then returning back to grin at her widely.

"I'm an explorer!" He declared loudly, giving the bush another bash with his sword.

"Ah, of course you are," Mary nodded, turning back to her book.

"Do you think Uncle Matthew will get me dog?" he asked, raising his voice from the ditch he was inspecting.

"I don't know, darling," she answered truthfully holding out her hand for him.

Teddy walked over, taking her hand and sitting beside her. He dropped his sword and lay against her side, casting his eyes upwards to look at her. "But it's my birthday soon. He might get a puppy for me."

"Four months isn't that soon." Mary chuckled. "But I suppose he might."

"Could we have a picnic? On my birthday?" He questioned, excitedly. "You, me and Uncle Matthew."

"I dare say. If you're good." She teased.

"I'm always good," he grinned.

"Mhm," Mary murmured rather unconvincingly with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"I've learnt my animals in French like you said," he argued, stubbornly folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh?" she questioned, a little disbelieving. "What do you want Uncle Matthew to get you?"

"Un chien!" He declared.

Mary smiled, impressed. "Or?"

"Un chiot!"

"Well done," Mary praised him for his efforts, turning from the novel and placing it down by her side. She retrieved her old sketch pad from the basket and picked a somewhat wizened pencil from her apron. With a careful eye and steady hand, she began to outline the boy as he lay down across the grass and inspected the ground before him with child-like captivation, his chin resting in his hands as he followed a trail of ants with prying, excitable eyes.

She managed to complete the sketch before he had run off, wildly slashing at the hedge again, declaring in an enthusiastic boast that he was claiming the new land for his own. Mary completed the details from memory, shading in the shadow of his features and filling in the stitching on his cap as she listened to him play.

* * *

 **Porthcurno Village, Emelle Cliffs, Cornwall. September 1921.**

* * *

She was hot. Terribly hot. Terribly hot and terribly sweaty, the music of a fast-paced fiddle thrumming in her ears and pumping in the blood through her veins, surrounded by crowds of dancing people—strangers and friends alike, laughter accompanying the wide smiles of every individual, cloaked in golden lantern light and the last silver slivers of a crescent moon. Drinks sloshed perhaps a little too freely, and with dance after dance after dance she became lightheaded and giddy with pacing adrenaline, sips of beer turning into gulps of the liquid that she could no longer taste past the intoxication of it. The light blurred with the darkness in her eyes, her movements growing sloppier and less coordinated by the second. Her feet moved instinctively, the gallop like organised chaos with each participant growing more inebriated by the minute, and yet she was grounded with the feel of his hand in hers, spinning her under his arm, his palm at her waist, lifting her to the air at all the right moments, their bodies moving together in sync as though they were no longer separate people, as if they were somewhat joined.

Her thoughts were blurred and incoherent from then onwards. Her head fell to his shoulder and she breathed him in. She was wrapped in his jacket and guided with a steadying arm away from the crowd as she tottered and swayed in her step, blinking away splodges at the corners of her vision as she talked his ear off and he listened with an indulgent grin. She felt a seat beneath her before she'd realised she'd sat down and as she reached for her drink Matthew's arms came around her to extricate it from her grip.

"I think perhaps you've had enough for one night."

"You'll buy a lady a drink and not let her finish it? How ungallant of you."

"I think I've bought you too many for your own good," he chuckled, moving the tankard a little further from her reach.

She giggled along with him, linking her arm through his, outstretched to her. "Ready to go home?"

"Home? God no."

For a moment, just for a moment, there came a hue in her gaze he could not rightly describe. He watched within the merest heartbeat as her features fell to stoicism and through the alcohol haze he thought she looked rather haunted for a second. Then she smiled.

"Let's go."

Her head lolled a little as they walked, finally settling onto his shoulder as they rounded the corner from the village to the road. Her feet didn't quite manage a straight line, and she stumbled a few times, laughing as he held her up with a supportive grip.

"Are you sure you're alright to walk back?" He chuckled as she continued to sway into him at irregular intervals.

"Are you?" She returned with a wry smile. "I'm sure I should take offence to your insination… your insuat… your insinuation." She fumbled over the word, frowning in concentration.

"No offence intended," he defended himself. "Forgive me, Miss, for my unthinking words," he joked, putting on an accent, but she looked deadly serious, poking him in the middle of his chest with one, jabbing forefinger.

"That's M'lady to you," she uttered with a raised eyebrow.

He laughed and caught her again as she tripped.

"Alright, M'lady. Your carriage awaits."

He scooped her up swiftly with the greatest of ease, pulling her body up bridal style against his chest. "What a gentleman," she drawled with a hint of delighted sarcasm, one eyebrow raised, draping her heavy arms loosely around his neck as he carried her back to the house.

It was a long walk, and despite her hazy state of unconcerned drunkenness she did not succumb to the sleep that so clearly beckoned her. She spoke, rambling and losing her subject often, but he listened to her observations and jumbled tales of childhood with great fondness and amusement.

He wondered if she could feel his heartbeat from where she lay, for he could feel the rather erratic knock of it hard against his ribs, growing faster and faster the longer she resided so near, so close to his skin. It would be a lie to say he had not entertained the thought, or rather fantasy, of her being within his embrace, but when he had pictured it before so longingly, he had been in more control of his feelings, not so much overflowing with nerves, and she—well, she had not been drunk. Still, the night had been perfect. And although he was embarrassed to admit that he had trembled quite fervently at the touch of her hand, he could not have been happier that she had spent the night partnering him and him alone. Some of those that had asked to intervene, she had blankly rebuffed, others she had more politely made excuses - that she had promised the dance to Matthew and each dismissal of another in his favour had swelled a warmth in his chest and a greater nervousness in his veins. He lost his step on occasion, finding himself too caught by a glimpse of her beauty in the golden glow to manage movement of his limbs in correct coordination.

But he was more careful now. He held her with care. His steps were measured and controlled, his arms protective and eyes soft despite their colour remaining piercing. It seemed all he was aware of was the weight he carried and how priceless it was.

"I should hope you're stronger than you look," she commented. "It's a long way back to Tipperary."

He laughed at her decidedly bad joke. "Don't worry," he replied in jest, "You're lighter than you look."

A poised eyebrow shot up in indignation. "Mr Crawley!" She declared, affronted. "Are you implying that I look heavy? How ungentlemanly!" She slapped his chest for good measure and offered him a deadly look that he made his best efforts not to chuckle at.

"I didn't mean anything of the sort!" He defended quickly.

"You're not a very good horse," she slurred.

"Oh?"

"No. You're impeccably slow."

But she was smiling, her drunken state making her uncharacteristically giddy. He noted, though, that her penchant for insulting him had not abated in the slightest.

"I don't want to drop you," he murmured.

"You better not." She warned.

"Not to worry. I may not be a race horse, but I'm a very reliable breed." He clarified, then, murmuring, "You're quite safe with me."

She dropped her head back to his shoulder and began to spot star constellations in a drowsy, yet admittedly contented voice.

He continued to walk, listening in earnest with a peaceful smile gracing his handsome countenance.

* * *

Matthew wandered inward to the library early the next morning. Teddy had not risen yet, and he suspected, with a fond chuckle, that Mary wouldn't either for some time yet. He brought with him some case files that Reggie had asked him to look over, but, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a book, misplaced on the sofa by the hearth. He turned and, looking it over found he did not recognise it. It was not his. Nor had he, to his memory, laid eyes on it before. Coming closer, he realised that it was no ordinary book—no novel—but rather a sketch pad of some kind.

He picked it up and turned it over, shifting it to the other palm, inspecting the leather binding with interest. It was thick, sumptuous even, with hand-made silver detailing that wove the cover across a very large book filled with thick, fine paper. He flipped it again, fingers gliding down the wide spine and across the embroidered silver lettering at the foot. He read the initials M.C in silver silk and wondered who they belonged to. He turned the cover and revealed an inscription on the inside page in fine ink.

 _To my darling Mary on your 10th Birthday,  
I hope this gives you a proper place to put all your drawings.  
Love, Papa. _

Matthew's brow furrowed inquisitively. If the present had been intended for Mary, then why had someone else's initials been put on the binding? The book was old, certainly, the pages clearly blunted at the edges with time and use, but it did not look old enough to have been bought second hand on Mary's tenth birthday. He felt a little intrusive, and wondered if he ought to put the book down but found he couldn't, the curiosity too much to ignore. He took terrible care in moving the pages, flicking the first over as if it were made from gold leaf.

The first drawing was an intricate pencil depiction of a great beech tree. The trunk was wide with detailed bark, surrounded by individual blades of grass making up vast fields that backed a gentle lake in which the landscape was reflected in watery shimmers. On the opposite page was a child; a beautiful portrait of a young girl with kind features and dark, braided hair. She sat in a field, surrounded by carefully drawn flowers, her eyes alight with pleasure, her dress fine but suiting of her tender age, scuffed from play and unruly from youth. He flipped the page again. On one side was a baby, closed fists that lay beside a lightly haired head of girlish features. The tiny nose was turned up, the small eyes closed, long lashes drawn from them in dark pencil strokes. On the next page was a puppy with light fur, lying on its back with its tongue lolling out and ears pricked. He turned over again and revealed more drawings, some landscapes, most portraits, few close ups of hands or feet or eyes. Many were in pencil, some were recorded in dark charcoal, a few tinged with colour in paint or pastel or ink, some chalk, some oils, some watercolour. All were exquisite. Each developing further the talent of the artist. In the bottom right hand corner there would always be a short caption: _Sybil in the garden, baby Rose asleep, view from my window, view from the drawing room, the lake, Sybil on the swing, Sybil and Edith in the nursery, baby Rose playing, Sybil asleep_ , _Papa reading, Papa reading to Sybil, Mama by the lake, Pharaoh by the fire, Mr Carson working, Sybil and Edith, Rose's fifth birthday, the Christmas tree,_ to name but a few _._ They were all dated. Starting from her tenth birthday, they seemed to span her life, one he was pleased to find looked happy and contented. As he neared the end pages, however, he found a pencil sketch of a great house; a beautiful building with detailed architecture and vast grounds behind it. fit for a king, he thought. Beneath it was the inscription, _Downton Abbey._ Curiously, the next picture was so incredibly familiar, it caught him off guard. On the page, in dark graphite, there was a sketch of the library at Arnhall. Next to it, on the adjacent page, there was an even finer drawing of The White Room. He flipped through, and there was the beach, then the gardens, the drawing room, the park, the village. Then, overleaf once more there was a child on a stool with a picture book in his hands, round glasses perched on a small nose before dark eyes and unruly short hair. Beneath that, written in an ornate hand, were the words: _Edward Turnbull – Teddy._ There were, indeed more of Teddy. Teddy in the garden. Teddy on the beach. Teddy lying in grass with his head in his hands. Sprawled on a blanket with his glasses by his side and his eyes closed. Smiling widely with a cheesy grin and hit hat at a jaunty angle.

The book had been finished, the last picture being a delicate watercolour painting of a scene he could put to a memory of the last weekend, the evening before he had gone back up to Manchester for work. It was a view from the drawing room window, a remarkably life-like depiction of himself led on the grass with Teddy's head across his chest, body curled to his side. Matthew found himself smiling at the interpretation, a pleasant tightness curling in his stomach at the thought of seeing himself through Mary's eyes. The caption read: Matthew and Teddy together in the garden, happy.

But there had been something else that had piqued his intrigue besides the beautiful sketches that filled the book to the brim. The unfitting initials had been strange enough, but as he flicked back through, he noticed that any trace or recording of Mary's life between the years 1919 and 1921 had not been provided. It was as if they had not existed at all.

He heard footsteps approaching the door, and replaced the book with haste, turning the odd circumstances quickly from his churning mind.

* * *

 **Downton Village, Yorkshire. September, 1921.**

* * *

Sybil made quick step through the village, holding onto her hat with one hand, clutching her recently finished letter in the other. To make the morning post she should've set off earlier, but time had evaded her while writing to her sister, and she only took a glance at her father's desk clock in the library once she'd signed off, and, by that time, she was already terribly late. Edith had monopolised Branson already to drive her into the village for a fitting appointment and so Sybil was afforded little option but to run and pray. She possessed no pocket watch but had not yet heard the village clock strike the hour, so as she neared the post office she continued at a quick pace, keeping her eyes firmly set on the target building before her, missing completely the man that turned around the curb abruptly, and therefore she crashed headlong into him.

"Oh good grief, I'm terribly sorry," she hurriedly apologised from her newfound position on the pavement and reached for her hat.

"Not to worry, m'lady." Came an unexpectedly familiar Irish accented tone. Branson smiled down at her, crouched and picked up the items she had dropped when she fell. He gave a charming grin, seemingly unusually jovial. Sybil wandered if there had been any favourable developments in Ireland. "I'm sure the fault was partly mine in any case." She took his arm to aid her ascent and thanked him as a friend. He offered her her hat, which she smiled and took.

"I apologise for my clumsiness. I'm afraid I wasn't looking where I was going. I'm in a rush to meet the morning post, do you have the time?"

He nodded, his gaze gentle and loving on her as it always was. "You've two minutes so you'd better hurry."

He dusted off the letter, glancing at it in passing, the name and address catching his eye. He held it out to her and accompanied her across the road and into the post office. Sybil hurriedly purchased a stamp at the desk and turned the letter upside down before handing it to the shop owner who turned to put it on the pile without a second glance. With a sigh of relief, she turned back to Branson, walking in step with him back outside and wandering together aimlessly with no means nor direction. She liked his company, and however much it might shock her granny— and indeed the rest of the family, she noted, with little care — she was not in the least bit under qualms about it. She admitted it freely. They were equals in many senses, her and Branson, and she found a kind of solace in his friendship that she had not entertained with anyone else in her memory.

"I thought Lady Mary was missing." He commented after a time, his tone breezing but containing the sincerity the discovery deserved. Sybil startled, eyes darting up immediately to meet his, stunned and more than a little bereft.

"Don't worry," he smiled. "Your secret is safe with me. I won't tell a soul."

She relaxed, her shock easing off slowly.

"I wasn't worried," she stated plainly. "I trust you. I know where your loyalty lies."

But he frowned at this, his jaw setting in indignation. "I do not bow and scrape— my loyalty is not fixed simply because I am employed by—"

"No." She challenged. "But you are loyal to your friends. And we are friends, are we not?"

His lips quirked upwards into a smirk and she smiled in return, nodding.

* * *

 **Residence of Mr and Mrs Reginald Crawley, Manchester, November 1915**

* * *

"He's only eighteen!" Reginald demanded, his voice incessant, deep, authoritative, forbidding the inevitable.

"I don't like it any more than you do," Isobel insisted, tenacious. "But he has to go—the conscription law will bind him to it! This isn't his decision, and it's better he goes on his own terms, in a regiment of his friends that might protect him, than battling against it and getting sent to god knows where with god knows who!" Her ferocity every bit as powerful as her husband's. "The law will come in just before he'll turn nineteen. That's the age he can legally go to France."

Reginald shook his head, blakeys making his shoes clack as he paced across the polished floorboards. He felt rather ill, but his pallid face had turned puce with rage, so Isobel could not see and therefore did not appeal upon him to sit or take his medication.

"I only have one son Isobel!" His voice thundered, pounding against the walls, as if he wished to shake the foundations beneath them. "And I will not wave him off to war, so he can be blown to smithereens, and for what? So I can proudly boast with a telegram held high that my son died for king and country," his tone dripped with a morbid sarcasm, "the Kaiser can have the bloody country and the damn shirt off my back, but I will not sacrifice my son!"

"It isn't up to us." She said, her tone uncharacteristically forlorn and resigned. She took her husband by the shoulders and turned him to the sofa to sit as he grew unsteady. "We don't get a choice, Reggie. Matthew doesn't get a choice. All the poor mothers and fathers of all the soldiers on the battlefield don't get a choice. Every boy at the front is a special case to someone. We can't fight a battle that's already lost, my dear."

Reginald reached for her hand and clutched it in hers.

"Losing him will kill me, Isobel. I won't survive it. I'm not strong enough."

Matthew listened from a seat on the stairs, leaning his head against the bannister like a child eavesdropping after dark. He closed his eyes in despair, his father's insistence that he would not go to war sounding like the ramblings of a desperate fool acting in vain.

Reginald wouldn't survive the war.

On the 19th of July 1916, he would read a first-hand published report of the Manchester Regiment's involvement in the battle of the Somme and suffer the heart attack that would kill him.

And Matthew would not be told.

It would only be when he was injured, lying broken in a hospital bed, mind still half submerged in the trenches, that he would ask his mother, "Where's Papa?" and Isobel would have to tell him.

Then, within a month, he'd be back under gunfire, pounded upon by shot and shell, the blazing explosions and cries of comrades echoing in his ears.

Matthew woke up rasping, springing up from where he'd fallen asleep with his head on his desk. He was half expecting to be knee deep in mud, for he could still smell the stench of broken corpses and hear the barrage of arms against the dugout, scattering mud and rocks over them all. He placed his hands over his head and wept. He'd been too young to go to war. They all had.

* * *

A/N - I hope this was a good read - I'm not sure what I think about it myself to be honest other than I wanted it to be longer but I was also conscious that I hadn't updated in a lifetime due to finals. As usual, please tell me what you all think! I love to know predictions of what's going to happen, so do review or PM if you have any questions or theories as to what caused Mary to leave (I've heard a fair few already and some are truly intriguing). I desperately hope this chapter was not a disappointment, I hope to begin updating a little more frequently now :) Also, in my mind, Matthew did have to put a sleeping Mary into bed, and I did write the scene, but it felt a little too soon and in the end, it missed the cut.


	6. Chapter 6

**Porthcurno Village, Emelle Cliffs, Cornwall. October 1921**

* * *

"Matthew?" She called, hailing a hand to her brow to keep the sun from her eyes. "You're back early!"

He stopped in his tracks and turned toward the churchyard. Mary was stood there, her hair slightly windswept from its up-do due to the breeze of the cliffs. She squinted from the evening sunset, but the light dazzled in her eyes and she looked simply beautiful in the warm orange hue, so much so that he took a startled step back and stared. "Why didn't you call and say so?" She pressed.

He offered a warm smile and came over, having forced himself to snap out of his reverie before he made a fool of himself. "I did, but Mrs Lynn answered and told me you were out. She said she'd pass on the message."

Mary rolled her eyes. "It must have slipped her mind." Then, with a mocking sigh, "things generally do, apparently."

Matthew chuckled gently. "She is getting on, I suppose."

"Not enough to attribute it as the cause of her failing memory." Mary said sternly.

It was his turn to roll his eyes.

"What are you doing here anyway?" She asked, indicating the church from which he'd emerged.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his palm rather awkwardly.

"I sing tenor in the choir," he mumbled, deliberately not quite meeting her eye.

"I know," she said coolly, "I've heard you."

He dared to take a quick glance at her, and then could not bear to take his eyes away when he saw her teasing smile, a very Mary-like raised eyebrow shooting him an amorous expression that made him weak at the knees.

"Then I apologise," he said, grinning a little.

"Nonsense, I think you're rather good." She dismissed, linking her arm through his offered elbow. They began to walk in step along the path. "Which is why I suggested to Laura that perhaps you might sing something at the party," she added breezily.

"You didn't?" He accused, aghast.

"I'm afraid I did." She replied with an amused grin.

"You've condemned me!" He called, closing his eyes in amused misery as she laughed heartily by his side.

She stroked his arm a little in consolation, but when he looked down at her they both snorted once more with laughter and she ended up clinging onto his proffered arm to keep her standing through fits of giggling.

"Where's Teddy?" He asked, once their laughter had died down to contented smirks.

Mary threw her gaze to the spot in which she'd left him, relieved to find him still sat there, docile and happy.

"He's with his parents," she answered, having become accustomed to using the little boy's terms to address their visits to the grave. "I wanted to leave him be for a little while."

Matthew nodded in understanding. "And, how are you?"

"Me?" She mused. "Alright, I suppose. My sister wants to visit in the new year. I'm not sure what to tell her to put her off, she's awfully determined. To be honest she's rather like me in that respect, once she's decided on something she will not be put off no matter what anyone says."

"Why should you put her off?" He asked. "I'm assuming this is Sybil, not Edith."

Vaguely, she felt impressed and slightly flattered that he had remembered such details she'd only told him in passing conversation.

She gave a short laugh. "You're right, of course. Sybil. I think the notion that Edith would want to enter a one-mile radius of me would be comical to anyone that knew us."

"So, why put her off? You must miss her. It's not like we don't have the room for her at Arnhall."

She couldn't dispute that. "I miss her greatly, of course. But I'm afraid my family is rather complicated."

Matthew didn't query her. "Families always are."

But then Teddy had turned towards them and, upon seeing Matthew, his eyes lit up like a child's would on Christmas morning. He scrambled up and scampered over, squealing with delight as Matthew roared, caught him, and threw him into the air.

Mary watched on with amused joy, wandering what on earth Matthew thought was complicated with his own family. Despite the, admittedly, shocking circumstances, Matthew and Teddy had always seemed so very much at ease as long as they were together.

This thought was further proved when Mary looked back at the pair and was greeted with the sight of Teddy being swung upside down by his ankles, giggling merrily while Matthew joked about throwing him over the cliffs into the sea. They all, of course, knew he would never dream of such a thing.

Matthew turned him back upright to his feet and looked up distractedly to the sky. The sunset was beautiful, an abundance of fiery colours in a veritable explosion that sank into the horizon at sea. But from the other direction, the clouds were dark, grey and ominous.

"We should get going." He declared. "It looks like we're due a storm."

Mary peered up and watched the sky sink over in rolls of growing darkness. The sea had been choppy that evening, and with the gulls squawking overhead, it certainly felt like something was brewing.

"Oh, I meant to tell you," Mary said, walking alongside Matthew while Teddy bounded eagerly ahead. "Mrs Crabtree has gone walkabout. So I'm not sure what to do about dinner. She told me she has had to visit her ill mother. But her story left something to be desired, I must say. "

"Oh really?" Matthew returned, raised eyebrows. "That's funny. I ran into James on my way here and he mentioned that he'd seen her in the Hope and Anchor with a gentleman friend."

Mary laughed. "I suspected as much." She mused. "How is James?" She asked, with little interest.

"Lobbying me to host a party this weekend at Arnhall." Matthew replied, lips pursed to show his evident disapproval.

"And will you?" She asked.

"He has already invited everyone to turn up tomorrow evening so I'm not sure I have much choice."

She chuckled at his discomfort. "How bad could it be?"

He turned to her, giving her a pointed look with one eyebrow raised. "This is James we're talking about. If there are any women in the village that are still speaking to him after the party, I'll be thoroughly surprised."

* * *

 **The Kitchens, Arnhall Castle, Cornwall. October 1921**

* * *

"I'm afraid I'm not the most adept cook." Matthew commented dryly. He placed a plate before her on the table and another in the place opposite. "But with Mrs Crabtree away, I had to improvise."

Mary looked a little warily at the food before her, her expression decidedly unimpressed. Matthew sat down before his own, watching her sour appearance with amusement. He bit back a laugh.

"What exactly is this?" She asked, indicating the toast-like shape underneath two rashes of bacon.

"Eggy bread," Matthew replied, as if it were obvious. "Try it," he ushered her. "Unless you'd rather cook something else."

Mary frowned, humming in ill-amusement. "I gave Teddy scrambled eggs, but that's just about it when it comes to my cooking knowledge."

Food preparation had never been seen as an integral part of Mary's education and, frankly, she had no interest in learning. Cooking was for cooks, one of which Mary was most certainly not.

"Go on then," Matthew prompted with a teasing grin. "I haven't poisoned it."

Mary didn't look as though she believed him. She certainly couldn't imagine Mrs Patmore ever sending the footmen up to the dining room with plates full of 'eggy bread'. Even so, she cut a small corner of it with an intrepid knife and fork and brought it to her mouth slowly.

Matthew watched, trying his utmost not to laugh as she dithered over eating it.

Then he intervened, leaning forward and taking the fork from her hand and holding in front of her mouth himself. She looked at him in mingled shock and confusion. But his hand simply hovered there.

"Go on," he prompted. "Open up."

She did, but she didn't quite know why.

He pulled the fork free from her lips and watched her chew, awaiting the verdict with a silly smile.

"It's not too bad," She said eventually, but her happy eyes gave her away.

They continued to eat, the silence punctuated by teasing looks and loud giggling. When they'd both finished, Matthew took the plates and washed them up a little haphazardly in the sink. The rain had been pelting harshly against the windows for a long while, the deluge outside being nothing unexpected, but at the sound of a clap of thunder, Matthew jumped and dropped the plate, so it smashed on the flagstone floor.

Mary startled at the sound and froze. So had Matthew it seemed, because despite the broken crockery in pieces over his feet, he made no move to clear it up. She collected herself and got up from the table, coming up behind him and laying her palm flat over his lower back. His eyes, that had been trained to the window, snapped towards her as he jumped again and snapped back into action.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shaking his head to rid himself of his reverie.

They both crouched down and reached out to begin clearing the shards of broken plate from the ground. Their heads bumped. As did their hands. For a short moment, he locked eyes with hers, but then turned his head away sharpish, afraid she'd notice the preoccupied look in his countenance if he looked too long.

Of course, there was no fooling Mary.

They cleared up and parted ways upstairs, murmuring their goodnights. It was late, and Matthew had endured a long journey down from Manchester. He was exhausted, but his fatigue had led to a dulling of his wits and after changing into his pyjamas he left his bedroom and wandered aimlessly through corridor after corridor. The noises of the deluge outside seemed to be plaguing him. His hands were trembling and his ears aching with every loud bang that seemed to precede another. He pushed into the upstairs library, needing a drink, but after he'd poured himself a whiskey he collapsed onto the sofa and stayed there, frozen stock still with a ringing in his ears.

The next thing he was aware of was the door sliding open and a timid figure appearing beside the doorframe. Teddy shook, his tiny little body a mere shadow in the doorway. He stepped in, at which in the same moment a through draft from the chimney slammed the door shut behind him and he scrambled across the floor into Matthew's waiting arms. He huddled up in a tight ball, obscuring his face in Matthew's pyjama shirt while the latter wrapped his arms around the child's closely curled body. He willed himself to say something, but his throat tightened, his body stiff with his own fear. Teddy whimpered, and Matthew cringed at the loud crack of thunder. The room seemed to shake. Matthew willed himself to stay together, holding onto Teddy like a lifeline. The boy shivered, clinging onto Matthew who could do little more than keep him tight against his chest as the gale was forced against the windows, making them groan and rattle. He closed his eyes. He needed to concentrate on something else.

Just then, with a particularly loud wail of wind, the door to the upstairs library was pushed slowly open. Mary appeared in the room, dressed in her nightgown. She drew a light-blue silk cover over her shoulders to stop her from shivering. It was an expensive one, with white floral detailing over the shoulders. "I was looking for Teddy," she explained, though unsure why she felt the need to justify her being there. Matthew stared uselessly, the lump in his throat stopping him from uttering any kind of greeting or assurance. Teddy brought his face up from Matthew's shirt to look at her, eyes red rimmed and frightened. He reached out a small arm to beckon her over, but Mary was wary, wondering if Matthew might have objection to them sitting so close, in their night clothes, after dark.

He forced himself to say something as she remained still, undecided.

"Stay," he managed.

Mary followed Teddy's arm and sat beside the pair of them. She was too observant not to notice every time Matthew flinched at the thunder, eyes widening as the flashes of lightening tossed light through the gaps in the window blinds. She brought her feet across and under her, so she was curled next to them on the sofa. Gently, she removed Teddy's glasses and placed them on the opposite arm. "Close your eyes," she urged him, her fingers smoothing out the frown lines between his brows. She saw how tightly Matthew's stiff arms were wrapped around the child, how his hand was tense and splayed over Teddy's knee. She leant back, shuffling in closer, and rested her head against the cushions so it lay side-by-side with Matthew's. "You too," she murmured. They both followed her instruction and she watched them with a small smile for a moment before beginning to speak.

"I used to love storms," she said, matter-of-factly. "I used to love listening to the pounding of the rain against my windows while I lay in bed in the warm. I still do. It comforts me."

As she continued her story, Matthew listened in earnest. He found it so easy to block out the gunshots while she spoke, hearing only her voice and the sound of Teddy's even breathing made it so simple to relax. And when he heard the storm again, with her voice over it, it was just that – a storm. There were no undercurrents of war. Where he had heard artillery, he only heard thunder. Where he had seen explosions, he saw only lightening. The shattering of rain against the walls of the castle was no longer menacing. It felt good – warm. The contrast between the gale outside and the flickering fire that warmed the room, where he sat with Teddy in his arms and Mary by his side calmed him.

"I remember once – I think I must have been about five or six – I had left my little toy dog at the bottom of the garden by accident and by the time I realised, I had been ushered back inside the house. It was the biggest storm I can ever remember seeing, but I couldn't leave that dog. My sisters were watching from the window as I ran out into the rain to go and get it. The wind was so strong I could barely breathe, and the rain felt like ice, but I ran all the way down to go and get it."

"What happened?" Matthew asked, his eyes still closed, picturing the scene with an amused smile turning up the corners of his lips.

"My father came running out to get me," she smiled in return. "He was terrified. He picked me up and slung me over his shoulder and ran with me back inside. I was the coldest I can ever remember being. And I was soaked. But I had saved my little dog, so it didn't really matter."

Matthew's grin had stretched his whole face now and, though his eyes remained closed, she could see it there too – the crinkles at the corners that came when his blue eyes lit up with a grin.

"Do you still have the dog?"

"Yes." It was the first thing she packed on the night she left home. "He's my lucky charm. I've had him always."

They were left in a contented silence for a while.

"Is he asleep?" Mary asked, after a beat.

Matthew finally opened his eyes. "He is." He confirmed, tilting his head to look down at the sleeping child. "I'll put him back to bed."

He moved slowly off the sofa, carefully balancing Teddy on his chest and then cradling him when he stood. Mary stood up, walking with him to Teddy's room and staying until they parted ways at her bedroom door.

She leaned up on the balls of her bare feet and kissed him on the cheek. His skin immediately flushed, his jaw loosening and dropping slightly, so if he tried to speak it would be little more than senseless, affected babble.

"Goodnight, Matthew."

He was frightfully hot all of a sudden, his skin prickling all over, goose bumps forming on his arms.

"Goodnight," he managed in return, but she had already retired.

* * *

 **The Main Hall, Arnhall Castle, Cornwall. October 1921**

* * *

The party was at its mere beginnings when Mary came down. Teddy had spent the afternoon lobbying her and Matthew to let him come to join them with great conviction. He was insistent and emphatic in his pleadings until Matthew had relented with a rather amused grin. He clutched Mary's hand as he came down thought, suddenly contrite and a little intimidated by the amount of Matthew's friends that now filled the main hall.

He looked up at Mary nervously, but he returned the smile she gave and cheered when she squeezed his hand. She bent down to him, knowing exactly how he could be put at once at ease.

"You see Hugo, over there?" She pointed to the man in question and Teddy nodded. "Well, Anna told me that he brought his dog with him and if you ask him nicely now, I'm sure he'd take you into the entrance hall to stroke him."

Teddy practically shook with sudden excitement, bouncing up and down before he scampered off toward Hugo, his eyes alight with pre-empted glee. She rolled her eyes and chuckled gently as she watched him, dressed in his best little mint-green suit, looking exceptionally smart apart from the one sock that had slipped so it no longer reached the bottom of his shorts.

She eventually turned to the room, surveying it with curiosity before she looked down to her dress and delicately smoothed it out. It was shining turquoise with fine gold detailing that came up and collected around her neck. Her shoulders were left bare, but she wore long golden gloves that came halfway up her upper arms. She dearly loved wearing fine dresses and delighted in knowing just how alluring she looked. She was always elegant, always poised, but her usual confidence was boosted further in the feeling of a particularly decadent gown. She knew the feeling of men's eyes on her, and never failed to wear it well.

She crossed the room, going to the double doors that led on to one of the drawing rooms in search of where Matthew had got to and found herself almost walking headlong into him.

Matthew's genial smile dropped from his face at the sight of her. His jaw loosened in stunned surprise and he stared at her for many long seconds. Her hair was pinned in an intricate and extremely becoming up-do, with a delicate gold headpiece across her forehead that matched the fine pattern on her dress. She looked thoroughly exquisite. The way the thin gold detailing came around her neck, leaving the green-blue main fabric of the dress at a point below her clavicle meant he could see through it to her prominent collar bone. Her bare shoulders were smooth and pale and so very breath-taking. She had a look about her, a knowing smirk that dazzled him – as if she was quite aware she affected him so. God, she was beautiful.

He collected his wits quickly enough, so he did not gawp like a brainless fool and bowed his head shortly, giving her a delighted smile and an ardent "Good evening," in greeting.

But as she stood back to a more respectable distance and looked him up and down – as handsome as ever, looking thoroughly dashing in his tails – she noticed his arm stiffly pressed to his side, a dark wooden stick held fast by the handle, as if her were leaning on it to support his leg.

"Why're you walking with a stick all of a sudden?"

He gripped it more tightly, gearing up a reply. "I was injured at the end of the war. I bruised my spine at Amiens. I recovered, of course, but my back seems to play up sometimes and unfortunately tonight it happens to have flared."

"But you're not in pain?" Her brow seemed to knot.

"Only a little," he appeased, "It'll pass halfway through the evening, I imagine." Then he grinned. "A few drinks in and I'll forget my stick entirely, I assure you."

She rolled her eyes.

"And would you care to get me a drink?" She asked, the usual glint returning to her eye.

"Of course. Perhaps cocktails will be more your style than cheap beer." He winked rather cheekily.

"Oh, I don't know," she mused. "I think I rather held my own with the cheap beer."

He laughed at that, recalling exactly the state cheap beer had put her in. Nevertheless, he went off to fetch her a drink.

* * *

Matthew stuck his head around Teddy's bedroom door to look in on him and found Mary sat at the edge of the boy's bed reading to him as he lay, clearly fatigued and panting slightly. He had obviously over exerted himself at the party that night, and his chest was feeling the repercussions of it.

He stood, watching in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame with a smile on his face as Teddy's heavy eyelids drooped shut and the hand that clasped one of Mary's, the little fingers that played with hers, went limp as he finally fell asleep. She carefully pulled her hand from his and set the book down on the bedside table. Then she tucked the blankets properly over his shoulders and kissed his forehead, smoothing back his dark hair and pulling off his glasses to place on top of the book.

"Sweet dreams," she murmured, before standing up and turning to the door. She jumped when she saw Matthew standing there. He laughed silently and went over to kiss Teddy goodnight before joining Mary in the corridor.

"The host has left the party, I see," Mary remarked, glancing into his eyes in the dimly lit corridor. She could feel him close to her—verging on chest to chest despite the grandeur of the wide corridor leaving no need for such intimacy.

"James will have no doubt leapt into the spotlight during my absence. I'll go back down now," Matthew mused, looking toward one of the winding staircases that led downward.

"Then I should retire," Mary murmured in turn.

Matthew looked disagreeing, his eyebrows flicking up in surprise at her early bed call. His expression gave clean away his acute disappointment.

"You're not going up this early, are you? We should all miss your company; besides Laura about to make me sing – on your recommendation I might remind you – and I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss me making a complete fool of myself."

Mary laughed.

"I suppose it would be a terrible shame to put such a teasing opportunity to waste," she agreed, smiling as he offered her his arm.

"You must promise I can rely on you at least to not laugh," he added, descending the stairs with her by his side.

"You can always rely on me."

They descended the stairs together, coming back to the party arm in arm, only to be spilt apart by friends who coerced them in different directions. Eleanor monopolised Mary, bringing her into the midst of a group of gaggling women, while Matthew was sprung upon by James.

"Now, Matthew," James had a wicked look about his face as he sipped is whiskey, "this governess of yours." James raised an eyebrow suggestively to which Matthew mirrored him, albeit with a disapproving inflection. Matthew shook his head at his friend's antics.

"James, I warn you," he said, "you should set your sights elsewhere. I fear trying to include Miss Levinson amongst your conquests is highly ambitious and will be entirely futile – even for you."

"Why?" James asked, "She's not married."

"Even if she were that wouldn't stop you," Matthew said, knowing his friend all too well, "no, I believe her standards are significantly higher than the likes of you."

James frowned. " _The likes of me_?" he repeated back in mock hurt, "I should tell you that any woman would be more than happy to have me, if my past experience is anything to go by." His wiggled his brow, and Matthew pretended not to know what he meant. Sometimes, he felt his middle-class background shine through more thoroughly when he was in James's company. There was such contrast between the friends. Each made the other's opposite qualities shine.

"Ah," Matthew laughed slightly into his drink, "but that is where your plan fails you, I'm afraid." James looked at him inquisitively as Matthew paused his sentence to sip his scotch. "Mary is not just any woman." He finished.

James laughed. "I see, I see." He muttered lowly. "You seek to pursue her, and you do not wish for opposition?"

"Of course not!" Matthew defended.

James ignored him. "Yes, yes, I saw you ogling her earlier. Do not deny it."

Matthew spluttered. "I was not… I would never…"

"I do not blame you," James said casually, "She has the body of a goddess; the best bottom I've ever laid eyes on."

"James!" Matthew scolded, having gotten used to refraining from such vulgarity in conversation since the trenches and his university days.

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed. I saw you staring when she came in the room, when she left the room and I certainly saw you staring when she bent to carry young Teddy to bed."

Matthew looked alarmed. "I was _not_."

James dismissed him. "Her dress was simply heavenly. The most sinful figure." He took a sip of his drink. "Heavenly! As were her br…"

"Enough!" Matthew interrupted, sternly but not angrily. "James, if you insist upon talking about Miss Levinson this way I will have no choice but to throw you out."

He did not disagree, and therefore left an omission – but James did not pick up on it, for half his faculties were concentrated elsewhere. Yet Matthew's mind, as it seemed to be so often these days, was in a disastrous muddle. He could no more deny to himself now than he could earlier – stood agape as she appeared – that her dress, and indeed every aspect she possessed, _was_ heavenly. More than so. But even as his mind was swept away to thoughts of a more ardent nature, he chastised himself. He swallowed and brought his eyeline up to the room. He caught her eye. She tipped an eyebrow then looked away. She was so very beautiful.

He felt somehow sanctimonious in berating James for his interest, when he himself seemed to think of just quite how magnificent she was increasingly often. Those eyes, their darkness, the way they melted him, unbalanced him. One look could break him into a sweat. One arch of those curved eyebrows had him swallowing dumbly for air. If he closed his eyes, which sometimes he did simply to indulge the memory, he could still feel the way her shoulder blade felt under his palm, the curve of her waist under his fingers, her body flushed to his in the midst of a dance. He could feel her hand in hers, her head on his shoulder, the scent of her perfume. How it all made him unfathomably weak at the knees.

Only she seemed so inextricably untouchable. She was beyond him, for reasons he could not assimilate, and yet it flared something inside him when he strived to match her jibes or her teasing. She provided him with scope, a challenge, but one he delighted to take up in. They practically came from different poles as far as most things were concerned, but they were balanced when they talked, when they laughed, when they walked together. But there was something. He couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, but it was there. The reason everyone seemed so much below her station, seemed so often at the mercy of her collected conversation and sharp wit. She had a natural flare for social conundrums. She could argue in the same fashion that he might cross-examine a witness or a defendant, and yet when others crossed her path—ones that did not entertain Matthew's and Mary's joint joy for a good argument, there was no challenging Mary. Not if one's own head was valued, anyway. But their relationship was so clipped. Their friendships were in bursts of weekends. They were his greatest joys, those Saturdays and Sundays where they'd go to the beach with Teddy and take him for walks or play hide and seek across the castle, only recently it'd been so that his weeks were also spent with her in mind. He'd hear her wry comments when she was not there. He'd imagine her saying them, in her perfectly poised, delightfully deep-toned voice, her speech alone asserting the authority that her statute implicitly and immediately commanded. When he used to have his nightmares, when he'd wake in sweat to the sound of his own screams, he would calm himself by taking an inventory of everything he treasured. He'd remember the way Teddy ran, waddled really, turning back every so often like a faithful dog with a grin. He'd recall how the child jumped in excitement at the mere mention of sweets or puppies or stories or picnics. He'd think of how he smacked his lips after he yawned, something he'd done ever since infancy when Matthew would have to rock him for hours sometimes before he slept. But now, Mary would come into these inventories. He'd think of how she had a million different eyerolls that said a million different things. The way she would smile with her whole countenance and how utterly perfect it would be – the crinkles at the corners of happy eyes, pink lips turned upwards, a little apart, cheeks raised with a grin. He'd remember the quirks of her eyebrows. How she turned her head just so to communicate something without words. He'd recall the times Teddy would sleepily ask her to sing to him as she sat by his bed, Matthew listening from beyond the ajar door, and she'd say, "close your eyes" and he would, then she'd sing, and her voice was like silk. Those were the last memories in the inventory, because even just recalling the lullabies would soothe him, his nightmares long gone, sleeping with nought but her voice in his head.

God, how long could he stand here and think of her? Forever, it seemed, because there was just something about her. Something so _Mary_.

"Well," James grinned, shaking Matthew's hand, "I am prepared to give you a fair chance, but if you could just inquire for me if she has a current chap so I know who I have to contend with, I would be most obliged to you."

"If you wish to know, you'll ask her yourself." He replied disapproving.

"Perhaps I will."

With that, James winked, walking across the room to speak with Hugo.

And it wasn't long before he was preyed upon by Laura, practically dragging him to the end of the piano and silencing the room with a gleeful air about her as they all gathered round. She began to play, and Matthew, giving Mary a prolonged look if indulgent exasperation – it was all her fault he was in this position after all – then began to sing.

She watched his features with careful, caressing eyes. His expressions were manly but graceful. She was not unaware of the muscles of his shoulders, or the way in which the perfectly laundered shirt clung to his back. He smiled when he sang, and his voice was deep and luxurious, spreading lowly through her. She found herself taking a large sip of her drink to soothe the rush of blood through her veins.

He was met with great applause as his finished, but he waved the exuberant praise away with a bashful smile. He was immediately swamped by attention – the majority of it female – and was carted off to one side by Caroline and Louisa, who were overzealous in their clear affection for him, at best. The two women were clearly well learned in the delicate art of flirting, and to Mary's, for some reason, great irritation, Matthew indulged and, far from trying to dissuade them, seemed to gently reciprocate and even encourage.

She looked elsewhere and quite by accident caught Laura's eye, who indicated to the grand, beckoning her forward.

Matthew noticed this exchange and excused himself, crossing the room to where Mary looked adamant on refusing the invitation to play.

"Why not?" His whisper was low in her ear and his warm breath settled out against her cheek. "Afraid you cannot make my equal?" He was teasing, she knew it. He was not a vain man, far from it, and was quite, quite sure she could make his equal, but that did not stop him from his desire to softly goad her into playing for him. He had never heard her play and wanted to desperately. His curiosity was paramount.

"You were rather good," she murmured in return, a compliment that spoke volumes to him – for she was not the type to say something and not mean it. 'Rather good' coming from her was a testament to a great success. "But no, that is not the reason I choose not to play."

He was intrigued by her deliberately opaque explanation. "So why is it then?"

"I haven't played, or indeed sung, since I left home." She answered swiftly. "I may not be as good, so out of practice as I am."

Matthew shook his head with a grin, scoffing gently. "I've never known you to be in the slightest bit modest – do not start now, for I do not believe the sentiment for a second."

Mary smiled demurely and handed him her drink. She moved past towards the piano and turned to face him. As she wafted across him, he caught her scent of freshly drawn linen and expensive perfume. She sat, and then began to play sweetly, with expression, slowly from memory at a soft andante. Her fingers were delicate, and the room entranced by the bewitching sound. He wondered from where she had learnt, and from whom. He wondered why he had never heard her play before. It was simply beautiful. A change in her breathing made Matthew's pulse quicken. She looked up, caught him watching her and held his gaze until he looked away. The last bars seemed to make the air between them tingle. She felt a heated shiver. Mary's prior social position had not prevented, per say, but had indeed _protected_ her from the lascivious stares of men. The possibility that she had encountered one now left her flustered and yet not disagreeably so. She looked away, deciding that she had been mistaken, but when her eyes flicked again back to Matthew's, she found their bright blue there to meet them. It was somehow covertly erotic. Mary carried it well, her posture held firm as she gave no indication of acknowledgment of the strangely intimate scenario. Bringing the piece to a final close, she came to the somewhat unwelcome memory that they were not the only two people in the room. She was met with an awed applause accompanied with a round of appreciative cheers. The group made their compliments as she departed from the stool and wound her way back to the surrounding party, stood at the foot of the grand and finding herself opposite Matthew in the semi-circle that the spectators had created. Laura broached the instrument next and beat up a more stumbling, energetic piece riddled with errors, unlike Mary's playing – full of precise beauty and intimate elegance – but Laura filled it with so much gusto it hardly seemed to matter.

That was, until she finished the hearty chorus and neared the verse, in which she nodded to Mary – signalling a clear prior arrangement – and the latter began to sing. But it was not the singing he had heard in passing when he watched through the gap of Teddy's bedroom door – not the kind she gave in response to his tired pleas. _"Will you sing to me?" Teddy would ask_. She would, her voice low, gentle and quiet. Soothing lullabies. No, her voice was different now. Still soothing, ever so much, but stronger, more commanding of her audience. Divine, as it thrummed through his ears.

 _"That's why I'm lonely, no home at all;  
I broke her heart, pet, after the ball…"_

She drew up her hand gently and Matthew, and all others inclined, joined in for the last chorus.

 _"After the ball is over…"_

They were all smiling widely by the end, singing along with no particular talent but instead waving it away with enthusiasm. At the end of the song, they broke out into laughter, during which Matthew came swiftly up to stand next to Mary, handing her back her drink when James stepped up to the stool. She took it gratefully, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when James winked at her before starting his song.

Matthew noted her reaction and spoke gently to be heard by her ears only while the rest of the party listened to James's performance.

"James thinks he is the font of all knowledge, and that every woman loves him because of it," Matthew started, "In fact, most think him rather obnoxious despite his looks. He currently has a new obsession."

Mary narrowed her eyes in amused suspicion. "Oh? And what is that, prey?"

"You," Matthew stated, his voice a seductive whisper in her ear. "He asked me if you would be interested."

"And what did you say?" She responded casually.

"I said he'd have to ask you himself. But I suspected you'd set your sights beyond the likes of him."

"Good." Mary confirmed, a slight smirk forming on her countenance. She moved her lips closer to his ear, saying her next words very slowly and deliberately. "If you get the chance, tell him I have my sights set somewhere else entirely."

With that, she was gone, moving deftly over to where Louisa, Laura and Caroline formed a small group.

* * *

The party stammered into the small hours. The noise eventually died to the slurred drunken singing as the occupants staggered along their respective homeward paths. Matthew locked up the doors and darkened the lights in the drawing rooms they'd used. He squandered the fires to dim embers and shut up the rooms for the night, trailing into the downstairs library to close the last room, under the impression that he was the last one left awake.

He was deprived of that notion when he looked in, because Mary was perusing through records beside the gramophone, her long gloves draped over the arm of the sofa, fingers skimming over the ridges of their cases as she passed through each of them, eyes casting over their titles and the art of the covers, then giving the next the same treatment. He shifted over in a tender silence, lifting his own hand to pick on out from near the back.

"Do you mind?" He asked, plucking it up and removing the record from inside.

"Of course not." She offered a smile.

He lifted the needle of the gramophone and pressed the record into place, allowing it to turn before he carefully let it drop once more. There was a clicking, shifting noise, and a low scratching, then a deep pop, before the music began to play.

There was a moment where she merely listened, awaiting either recognition or confirmation of the opposite.

"I don't know this one," she finally said in conclusion.

He neared her brushing the back of his hair with a nervous palm for a second.

"Actually, I rather like it. I think it was in a show that flopped." He smiled gently. "Zip Goes a Million – or something."

They both chuckled, facing each other somewhat expectantly despite their unanimous feeling of not being quite aware as to what they should expect. It seemed as though something were about to transpire – that something was about to be said – but instead he didn't speak at all and the kind smile that came to his face showed his utmost affection as he offered one arm then the other, slowly and without any hindrance or misgiving.

She took them, matching his serene smile and meeting his eyes, not looking away. Suddenly there was no reservation in the way she looked at him. They began to dance. His feet were practised and knowing, movements slow and gentle. She allowed herself to be led by him, the feeling somewhat innate with the tender resting of his hand below her shoulder blade, his other very lightly holding one of hers. Her fingers lightly splayed over his shoulder, the tips very intricately smoothing over the slight fuzz of his jacket. He was warm to the touch. Warm and masculine. And although his bare palm at her back had been felt acutely before, she seemed suddenly more aware of it now.

"Can you manage without your stick?" She asked. It was half intended as one of her usual teasing comments – the way they would normally play with each other – and half murmured out of a deep concern. She worried suddenly. Worried that his back might still be ailing him, and she did not wish for him to persevere through it for her sake.

But his reply was amorous. "You are my stick." And her smile widened, her worry fading, though not quite entirely.

She gave a little chuckle, her eyes alight and still matched to his. Her fingers inched a little toward his collar, her thumb rested with just the tip over his lapel.

She was over three inches his shorter, but her heels gave her a little more height, and with his head bent slightly towards hers, they were cheek to cheek. She could feel his breath against her, soft and light, and let her eyes slip shut for a moment – just a moment – soothed and yet also enamoured with their current proximity.

He wanted to say something, but any triviality felt incompatible with that moment. And then he found he didn't want to say anything at all, which was fortunate because the sensation of being so close to her would have meant it would have taken all the air left in him to utter anything and, even then, it would be no more than a whisper.

They danced, moving steadily but fluidly together, using all the space the room had to offer without properly focussing or engaging in awareness of anything around them. Vaguely, as his head moved back to watch her eyes once more, he wondered if the music was still even playing. He couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything. He wondered if she could.

He was close. So close it felt somehow that the air around them ceased to exist. She leant in a little closer. His light eyes were still fixed on hers. She couldn't look away. As her feet moved forward and his came back, their waltz tightened, and she came closer again. She leaned forward a little more and felt his nose slide lightly with hers. She nuzzled against him until their foreheads touched.

He wasn't sure whether it was her that closed the final gap or him. But either way, he felt his blood pulse and could hear his heart in his ears. Her mouth was touched to his, tentatively, almost gingerly at first, and then he boldened, tenderly nipping at her lower lip, eliciting a soft sigh from her. The hand that had held hers brought her fingers slowly forward and then slipped away as she clasped his shoulders with both palms and brought him closer. Their lips brushed against each other, seductively, and then she pressed his mouth to his while he leant in further to feel her.

Moments ago, she'd been simply gazing in to that remarkable blue of his lovely eyes, as the world seemed about to open up and spin out of control. His lips had been so close – so very close – to hers and her heart had begun to beat faster and faster, but now Mary let her fingers press into his shoulders, feeling him hum against her as her thumb rubbed tiny circles over his collar. He tasted like champagne and something else uniquely him. Time seemed suspended – she thought nothing of anything but his lips – as he sweetly and lovingly held the kiss and gently caressed her hand with his fingers. And then, ever so slowly, he pulled away, with a gentle smacking sound.

As he leaned back, Mary's eyes remained closed as she gave out a breath. Her head was tilted back still, a feeling of lightness consuming her. Matthew's lips curved to a smile as his eyes finally opened and he watched her. His chest expanded as he breathed in, her intoxicating scent filling him not for the first time that evening. He licked his lips and her taste still remained.

A second passed, and her eyes slowly opened. She blinked. He swallowed. She cleared her throat, feeling unusually lightheaded and uncharacteristically speechless.

"Oh," she managed. Her voice sounded deep and seductive and he let out a particularly stuttering breath.

She was not sure how long ago the music had stopped.

"Excuse me, Mr Crawley, Miss Levinson." She turned a little too sharpish at Mrs Lynn's sudden voice from the door.

Matthew swallowed rather heavily. He opened his mouth to attempt speech, but Mary had answered before he had even remembered quite how to form words.

"Yes, Mrs Lynn? How was the celebration at the Hope and Anchor?"

"Excellent. Although I'm afraid to say that it looks as though Mrs Crabtree might not quite be up to breakfast tomorrow." The housekeeper gave a smirk accompanied with a little snort of gossiping laughter. "I just came to say there's plenty of hot water should you want to bathe tonight." She directed her sentence toward Mary but looked at her watch and revised her statement. "Or this morning, if we're being particular about it."

"Thank you, I think I will," Mary replied, trying so very desperately to not appear as flustered as she felt.

Mrs Lynn bid them both goodnight and left herself for bed.

Matthew, unsure what he should say, attempted to return to their usual teasing humour.

"Do you often like to bathe in the early hours of the morning?" But his voice was still rather raspy as he said it. It didn't seem to hold quite as much of the amorous playfulness it usually did.

"I often like to before I go to bed." She replied. "It makes for a better sleep."

She smiled, but it was a rather affected smile – not quite sure, for the first time in her life – how she should conduct herself.

"You should go on up," he said, "I'll just sort out this last room before I retire."

She nodded, turning to go in heed of his advice before suddenly turning and reaching out to quickly squeeze his hand. "Goodnight, Matthew." She whispered gently. "Thank you. It was a wonderful party."

He watched in breathless shock as she left for bed.

As soon as she'd disappeared from sight, his fingertips were sent unconsciously to his lips – not sure from which he was remembering her touch.

He left the fire for Ellen to sort in the morning but removed the record from the gramophone and slipped it back into its sleeve, replacing it on the shelf beside it. He closed the blinds and surveyed the room, still somewhat stunned, before he switched off the lights and closed the door, heading up to bed – his thoughts running rampant and thoroughly intoxicated.

In the privacy of his cosy room, in the pleasant half hour before slipping between fresh pressed sheets, his mind wondered unbidden to that moment at the piano. That lingering eye contact accompanied with the feeling of his throat running hot and dry, his collar suddenly too tight. Then he thought of the dance. And then the kiss. Sometimes – more than sometimes – he found himself thinking of her as he fell asleep, and growing hard at the thought that she might, at that same moment, be lounged, bathing in the tub, her smooth and pale skin wet and lit only by glowing lamplight.

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 _A/N - thanks for all the reviews :) much appreciated. I hope this was alright and do please tell me what you thought of it, as this chapter hopefully progresses things quite a bit. Thanks for reading!_


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